Lost Identity Page 15

  ‘Carla,’ said Stephen, picking up the gun and rising to his feet, ‘we have to get out of here – right now.’

  She looked at him, blankly. ‘She’s my best friend.’

  It tore at Stephen’s heart to see the abject grief which had consumed her. He wanted to hold her, console her, give her time to absorb what had happened. But there simply wasn’t time: they needed to get away – and fast.

  The decision was abruptly made for him. A loud groan emanated from upstairs, followed by erratic scraping and banging sounds. At least one of their assailants was still a threat.

  There was no time left for sensitivity and consideration – Stephen grabbed Carla by the hand and physically pulled her away from the lifeless body of her friend.

  ‘Give me your car keys,’ he yelled as they stepped out onto the street.

  In spite of everything which had just happened, Carla had kept a firm grasp on her handbag – maybe she had realised its importance, or maybe it was just force of habit. In a daze, she reached inside and found the keys, holding them up in front of her. Stephen grabbed them from her hand and, stuffing the gun into his waistband, took her wrist in his hand, sprinting across the road to where Carla’s car was parked, dragging Carla behind him. He unlocked the car and shoved her into the passenger seat before rushing around and jumping into the driver’s seat. With fumbling fingers, he inserted the key into the ignition and twisted it.

  The car wouldn’t start.

  He let the starter motor churn for maybe ten seconds, but the engine wouldn’t catch. ‘Come on, damn you… come on …’ he hissed, through gritted teeth. He tried again – after a few seconds the engine coughed and spluttered, but it still wouldn’t catch. The speed at which the starter motor was turning the engine began to slow as the tired battery began to give up.

  Suddenly, the air was rent by a sharp, high-pitched sound – something between a shriek and a crash. He felt a rush of hot air graze the back of his neck. He jerked his head to the left just in time to see the side window of the car disintegrate into a myriad of tiny fragments and fall out of the frame. In the doorway of Sylvia’s apartment block he could see a figure grasping a gun in a double-handed grip, pointed right at them. The man was swaying unsteadily on his feet, which were planted wide apart as he tried to stabilise his stance. Stephen was still trying to process what was happening when he saw the muzzle flash as the man loosed a second shot. The bullet glanced off the windshield at a shallow angle without penetrating it.

  Stephen yanked the gun from his waistband; he had never fired a gun before in his life but, with the car refusing to start and their pursuer closing on them, it seemed the only chance. As he took the weapon in both hands and braced his forearms on the sill of the shattered window, his panic seemed to subside and a strange feeling of confidence filled him. Taking aim, he held his breath for a moment and squeezed the trigger. Pfut! The silenced weapon made very little sound as it kicked in his hands. The gun spun from the hand of the figure in the doorway as he staggered backward, clutching his upper arm.

  In the few brief moments since the first shot had been fired, Stephen had not had the chance to steal even a fleeting glance at Carla. Now he seized the opportunity to spin round and check on her; thankfully she still sat bolt upright, and there was no sign of any blood. She was staring straight ahead, as though in a trance, seemingly oblivious of the mayhem erupting around her.

  ‘Carla – are you OK?’ he yelled, grabbing her shoulder and shaking her.

  She turned her head towards him, blinking as she shook off the dazed stupor that had consumed her. ‘Y-yes, I think so. What … why …?’

  There was no time to talk: Stephen glanced back towards the apartment doorway to see the man staggering to his feet, still clutching his injured arm, but once again holding the gun. Shit!

  What should he do? Should he fire again to try to take the bastard down? His first shot had been remarkably accurate considering the range and his own total inexperience with firearms, but that must have been down to luck – he doubted that he would stand much chance in a gunfight with someone who was surely a hardened killer. Should they get out of the car and make a run for it? He feared, though, that they would be sitting ducks outside of the car. He decided to have one last try at starting the car.

  As he twisted the key in the ignition, the engine turned over painfully slowly, but then coughed twice before bursting into life. Thank God! He shoved the selector lever into ‘Drive’ and floored the accelerator. With a brief chirrup from the tyres, the little car surged forward. Stealing a brief glance over his shoulder, Stephen saw another muzzle flash, followed a moment later by the sight of the back window of the car crazing over before breaking up and falling, in a cascade of tiny pieces, onto the rear seat. Thankfully, neither he nor Carla had been hit.

  They sped away, running a red light and executing several hazardous overtaking manoeuvres before Stephen was satisfied they were safe; only then did he slow to a sensible pace.

  ‘You OK?’ he breathed, turning to Carla.

  She turned towards him, nodding weakly, her face a mask of shock and grief. ‘Sylvia … they killed her. Why? She wasn’t supposed to be involved in any of this.’

  Stephen had no answer.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ she continued, ‘I should never have asked her to let us stay at her place.’ A tear welled from the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek.

  ‘No,’ insisted Stephen, ‘if it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine.’

  She didn’t respond, either to accept or refute what he had said, but instead asked, ‘Who are they Stephen? What do they want?’

  ‘I just don’t know,’ he muttered, shaking his head in rage and frustration. ‘For whatever reason, they just seem to—’

  ‘LOOK!’ she yelled, clutching his arm. ‘BEHIND!’ She had twisted in her seat and was looking through the shattered remains of the back window.

  Stephen glanced up at the rear-view mirror to see a silver SUV speeding towards them.

  Chapter 20

  Stephen floored the accelerator pedal, willing the tired old Nissan to find a little more pace, but it was no use – the other car was relentlessly closing the gap between them.

  And then their plight became even worse, for straight ahead was a red light. There were already several cars waiting, and there was no way through or around them. Behind, the silver SUV was now only about a hundred yards back, and closing rapidly. Stephen’s brain was racing as he tried to decide what to do. There was only one possible option.

  ‘Hang on!’ he yelled, as he stood on the brakes and wrenched the steering wheel hard over to the left. The tortured tyres screamed in protest, emitting a cloud of acrid-smelling smoke as the car slewed round in an untidy U-turn.

  The manoeuvre seemed to catch their pursuer by surprise, for he had no time to react as they sped back towards him on the opposite side of the road. As they drew alongside him, the man fired a hurried shot though his open side window. But he had had no time to aim properly, and the shot was wild; Stephen heard it slam into the bodywork somewhere behind them. As they sped past, he caught a glimpse of their attacker: blood streamed down his left arm; his face was twisted with rage.

  Stephen floored the accelerator again. As they raced away, he glanced again in the rear-view mirror to see the SUV also performing a wild U-turn, snaking erratically from side to side as the driver fought to regain control. Seconds later, it was speeding towards them once more.

  The next light was, mercifully, on green but, as Stephen flew through the junction, he was dismayed to see that the silver car was rapidly gaining on them. He cursed as their pursuer also made it across the junction before the lights changed to red. He urged Carla’s car forward but it was already giving all it had to give; there was no way they could outrun the other vehicle.

  What could he do? Try another U-turn? His pursuer would probably be ready for such a move this time. Try and shoot back at the other car? Practically impossible while
still driving. Give the gun to Carla? She looked way too traumatised to shoot back, even if she knew how to handle the gun. The prospects looked bleak.

  The next light turned to red just before they reached it. There were no other cars in front of them this time, so Stephen just kept the accelerator pinned to the floor and surged toward the junction. The blare of a horn proclaimed the outrage of the driver coming from his right as Stephen swerved to avoid hitting him. But, against the odds, they made it across, and as Stephen looked in his mirror, the stream of traffic now flowing rapidly across in both directions would surely make it impossible for their pursuer to follow.

  But he was a determined bastard – Stephen was astonished to see the silver SUV cutting through the stream of traffic, fishtailing wildly as the driver tried to avoid other vehicles. Finally, another car clipped his rear corner causing the car to spin, and then, a second or two later a massive truck ploughed into the car, carrying the twisted wreck forward for perhaps thirty yards before coming to a halt.

  His heart pounding, Stephen slowed the car to a normal pace: he didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention from the police, although the battered state of the car would probably do so anyway, before long.

  ‘I think we’re safe – for now at least,’ he gasped.

  Carla turned her head sideways, still looking dazed and confused. ‘Is he … gone?’

  Stephen nodded. ‘The car’s trashed, and he’s either dead or injured.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I’m sure … he won’t be following us any longer.’

  ‘Thank God,’ she breathed, her chin sinking to her chest.

  ‘But we still need to find somewhere to stay tonight.’

  ‘But where?’ said Carla. ‘We can’t risk going back to my place … or Sylvia’s.’ Her voice caught in her throat as she uttered her friend’s name.

  Stephen thought for a moment. ‘How much money do you have on you?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly … probably about fifty or sixty dollars, I guess.’

  ‘And I still have a few dollars left. OK … I know a place.’

  ***

  The proprietor at El Refugio evidently remembered Stephen.

  ‘Well, hello again,’ he said, licking his lips salaciously as his gaze flickered from Stephen towards Carla. ‘I see you have a friend with you tonight.’ The sly intonation in his voice as he said the word ‘friend’ was obvious. ‘So would you be wanting a room for the whole night or would you prefer to pay by the hour?’

  Stephen felt a surge of anger erupt within him, but chose to suppress it. ‘For the night,’ he said, laying fifty dollars on the counter.

  ‘You want twin beds or a double?’ he said, eying Carla’s slim, shapely body up and down. ‘You see it’s an extra ten for a double.’

  Stephen was just about to remonstrate with the seedy slob of a man when Carla beat him to it. To his surprise, she stepped forward and leaned across the counter, looking up at the man, her face just inches from his stubbly chin.

  ‘Listen to me you fuckwit. This is not what you’re implying, and it would be none of your damned business even if it was. We just want a room for the night, and I don’t give a shit what sort of bed – or beds – it’s got. We’ve just had a really bad day, and I’m not in the mood for any more your smartass comments. Now, one more fucking wrong word out of that foul mouth of yours and I’ll come around that counter and knee you right in the balls. Got it?’

  Were it not for their desperate situation, Stephen might have laughed out loud at the expression on the man’s face. His jaw had dropped and his eyes were like saucers. He appeared to be dumbstruck.

  ‘Well? You heard the lady,’ said Stephen.

  It took the man a couple of seconds to gather his wits enough to respond. When he did, all of the innuendo had evaporated; he became meek as a lamb. ‘Er … yeah, sure. Twin beds then?’ he said, nervously.

  Stephen nodded. ‘Just give us the key.’

  When they got into their room, the two of them sat down facing each other, one on each of the twin beds.

  ‘I’m so sorry you got dragged into all this,’ said Stephen. ‘And especially for what has happened to Sylvia. All she was guilty of was trying to help us – she didn’t deserve to …’ His voice tailed off – whatever words he could find just seemed woefully inadequate.

  But Carla was no longer tearful – her expression now portrayed anger and grim determination. ‘It’s not your fault. You saved me from being raped, or possibly even killed. You’d never have been attacked and lost your memory if you hadn’t come to help me. It was my choice to try to repay you in some way. It seems we have both become mixed up with some truly evil bastards.’

  ‘I guess we have,’ murmured Stephen, hanging his head and shaking it from side to side.

  ‘So what now?’ asked Carla. ‘Should we go to the police?’

  Stephen shook his head. ‘If we go to the police now – after everything that has happened, they’re bound to keep us in for questioning while they try to untangle what the hell’s going on. I’m worried sick about Emma, and I can’t afford to miss the opportunity to get to her tomorrow. In any case, if you were the police, would you believe a crazy story like mine?’

  She managed a half smile. ‘I guess not.’

  ‘I’d more than likely be considered a suspect for the murder of Doctor Holt,’ said Stephen ‘… maybe Sylvia, too.’

  ‘And as for me … well, I’m not even supposed to be in the country at all,’ added Carla.

  ‘You need to get away,’ he reaffirmed. ‘Sell the ring, get your papers, and get as far away from here as possible. I can’t ever thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me, but there’s no reason for you to stay tangled up in my mess any longer.’

  She leaned forward and placed her tiny hand on top of his. ‘At least, I’ll drive you over to meet with Emma and hang around until she shows up.’

  ‘You don’t need to do that.’

  She smiled. ‘I want to.’

  He squeezed her hand gently. ‘OK – but then get the hell away from Miami as fast as possible. And ditch the car as soon as you can … with the windows all shot out like that it’ll be a magnet for the cops.’

  She nodded.

  They sat like that, in silence, looking into each other’s eyes for several seconds before her expression changed and she turned her head sideways. ‘What about your briefcase?’

  In spite of the hectic events of the last few hours Stephen had hung on to the case, which now lay alongside him on the bed. He picked it up and set it down on his knees, gazing at the two combination locks. Were some of the answers he was seeking inside that case?

  ‘Maybe,’ said Carla panning her gaze from side to side, ‘there’s something in the room we can use to force it open.’

  As Stephen continued staring at the locks, a dawning realisation settled. ‘There’s no need,’ he said, looking up at Carla.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve remembered the combination.’

  ‘You have? But how …?’

  ‘Remember I told you that I thought it was something to do with significant dates?’

  ‘Yes, but you already tried numbers based on the dates in the diary.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not those dates.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘The first combination is based on my birthday … 3rd of November.’

  He turned the wheels to show ‘311’. Tentatively, he slid the square button to the left; the latch obediently flipped open.

  ‘Yes!’ exclaimed Carla, clapping her hands together. ‘What about the other lock?’

  ‘My wedding anniversary … 26th of August.’

  He set the wheels on ‘268’and slid the button to the right. ‘Click’. The latch sprung open.

  He looked up at Carla, a slow smile spreading across his face.

  ‘Open it!’ cried Carla, moving across to sit next to Stephen on the bed as he raised the lid.


  The case was mostly full of papers, but protruding from a pocket in the lid was a UK passport. Stephen took it from the pocket and, with trembling fingers, opened it. There, staring back at him, was his own photograph. When he read, out loud, the name below it, an overwhelming wave of relief swept through him. ‘Stephen Mark Lewis’.

  Carla grabbed his arm. ‘You see? You weren’t going crazy … it’s you.’

  He stared and stared at the page, almost afraid to believe it was true. So the other Stephen Lewis was the imposter. But why? What did anyone have to gain by impersonating him and abducting his wife? And what was important enough to justify the indiscriminate murders of Doctor Holt and Sylvia? The confirmation of his identity might have reassured him of his own sanity but it raised even more questions than it answered.

  ‘See what else is in there,’ urged Carla.

  The contents were mostly medical research documents, and there was a brochure about the conference at the Palm Grove Hotel, but as Stephen carefully removed the papers, laying them out carefully on the bed, what he found underneath them made his breath catch in his throat.

  Chapter 21

  They both gazed, open-mouthed, at the several thick wads of banknotes in the briefcase.

  Carla was first to find her voice. ‘But why would you have been carrying so much cash?’

  ‘I … I don’t know,’ he admitted.

  ‘What about your wallet?’ she prompted. ‘You said you didn’t have it on you when you were taken into hospital.’

  ‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s here somewhere.’ He pulled absolutely everything out of the briefcase, but there was no sign of the missing wallet. His shoulders slumped. ‘I guess those bastards who attacked me must have taken it.’

  ‘Hey, why so miserable?’ You’ve got your passport for I.D. now, and with all this cash, you really don’t need your wallet.’

  He looked into her eyes. ‘It’s just that … well, the only photo of Emma and me together, that I stood any chance of retrieving, was in that wallet.’