Lost Identity Read online

  And then he realised …

  I’m supposed to attend that conference – that’s why I’m here in Florida.

  He could not fathom just why he should be attending such a conference, but somehow he knew it was true. He felt a surge of elation as this realisation came to him – it was another small, but significant piece of the jigsaw puzzle.

  But why would he have arrived in Miami more than a week before the conference, and why would he have been passing through a narrow, unlit alley? Try as he might, he could make no sense of it. And, what about Emma? He was sure, now, that Emma had come to Miami with him, but had she been with him when he was attacked? He screwed his eyes tight shut and clenched his fists as he strained every sinew with the effort of trying to retrieve more snippets from the morass swirling just beyond his reach. Maybe she had—

  A familiar voice intruded. ‘I have your tea here Stephen. I’ll just … what’s the matter? Are you OK?’

  With the interruption, the moment had passed and the further details, which had seemed so tantalisingly close, slipped away into some faraway, murky gloom. He gave up and opened his eyes to see the nurse setting down the cup and moving towards him, concern etched across her face.

  He was desperate to share with her this latest flash of insight. ‘I know why I’m here, Kelly,’ he declared, jumping to his feet, adrenaline now smothering the pain and weakness which had previously afflicted him. He picked up the newspaper and thrust it towards her, pointing at the headline which had caught his eye just a few moments earlier. ‘See this article? That’s the reason I’m here in Miami … it’s for this conference. And this Palm Grove Hotel … I think I’d already heard of it. Maybe that’s where—’

  ‘Whoa!’ she cried, placing her hands on his shoulders and gently encouraging him to sit back down. ‘You need to slow down. Let me get Doctor Holt, and then you can take us through what you remember.’

  She hurried from the room, leaving Stephen still struggling to piece together the disjointed pockets of information which had come back to him in the previous few minutes.

  Half an hour later, Stephen had recounted everything he could remember, in the process recalling a few more scant details. The nurse and Doctor Holt had sat in silence as he disgorged absolutely everything he could recall.

  Finally, Doctor Holt spoke. ‘But you still don’t remember anything about the attack itself?’

  He closed his eyes as he tried once more to grasp those elusive memories. There was nothing … but then, just for a moment, a woman’s face materialised in his mind. Dark skin; fine cheekbones; dark brown eyes; aquiline nose; strong, straight black hair. She moved her face towards his and … The image faded as quickly as it had appeared.

  ‘There was a woman,’ he whispered. ‘Latina I think … she …’ He clenched his fists in frustration, unable to grasp any link between the face he had glimpsed through the swirling mists in his mind, and what had happened to him in that darkened alley.

  As he opened his eyes to see the expectant expressions on the two faces opposite, he exhaled heavily. ‘I’m sorry … I just can’t remember.’

  ‘Do you think your attacker was a woman, then?’ prompted the doctor.

  ‘No … I don’t think so. I think she may have been trying to help me, but…’ The effort of recall was just too much now. ‘I just don’t know.’ He slumped back into his pillow, exhausted by the sheer effort of trying to remember.

  ‘OK … don’t worry’ said the doctor, ‘you are making excellent progress. With just a few more days’ rest and recuperation, hopefully, you will recall much more.’

  Stephen shook his head. ‘No … I have to get out of here … right now.’

  ‘Out of the question,’ said the doctor. ‘You need to rest now. With trauma of this nature there could be all kinds of after-effects. We need to keep you under observation for a few more days at least.’

  ‘I’m sorry Doctor, but Emma may be hurt, and even if she’s not, she’ll be worried sick. I have to find her.’

  ‘Can’t you leave that to the police?’

  Stephen sighed. ‘I already told you what they were like – they really didn’t seem that interested. Hell, I’m not sure they believed I even have a wife. Look, at least I now know where we were headed: the conference is being held at the Palm Grove Hotel, and I think that’s where Emma and I would probably have been staying. I can start by going there.’

  ‘But you have no money, no I.D. … nothing.’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ Stephen insisted. Actually, he wasn’t at all sure how he would, but he had to find Emma.

  The doctor sighed. ‘If you insist, then of course I cannot keep you here. However, I need to raise the unfortunate question of payment. Do you know if you have insurance?’

  The last thing Stephen needed, at this stage, was a hold-up over money. He had no idea whether he was insured.

  ‘Absolutely,’ he lied. ‘That’s one thing I do remember.’

  The doctor inclined his head, ever so slightly, and his eyes narrowed a little. ‘I’m sure you appreciate that I’m not supposed to allow you to leave the hospital until you have furnished proof of insurance or ability to pay.’

  Stephen spread his hands, helplessly. ‘Doctor … you know full well that I was admitted with practically nothing on me. As soon as I find Emma I’ll be able to give you the details.’

  The doctor lowered his head and began stroking his chin. ‘Where will we be able to contact you?’

  ‘For now, I don’t have a mobile phone, a computer, or anything. Can’t you trust me to contact you?’

  The doctor looked up at him. ‘And if you leave the country?’

  ‘Look, I don’t even have a passport right now, so there’s no way I can leave the country. You have my word that I will contact you to arrange payment just as soon as I have sorted out this mess and got my life back.’

  Doctor Holt gave a deep sigh, eventually appearing to relent. ‘Nurse, if you can sort out Stephen’s clothes for him, I’ll prepare the necessary discharge papers.’

  ‘Thank you … thank you both. For everything.’

  Around thirty minutes later, the nurse returned carrying a pile of clothes.

  ‘Thank you, Kelly. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing really,’ she said, laying the clothes on the bed. ‘I’m afraid your jacket and shirt are ruined … the blood wouldn’t come out. But I’ve found you these from our lost property store.’ She held up first, a shirt; and second, a long, leather jacket. ‘The jacket might be a bit warm for the local climate but it’s the only one I could find which looks like it might be big enough. I hope they fit OK.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Stephen, smiling. ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine.’

  ‘And … er, well, you’ll need some money. You know … for food, cabs, and stuff … just until you find your wife and, hopefully, get your wallet back.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry … I’ll just—’

  ‘I’ve just been out to the ATM around the corner. I’m afraid this is all I can lay hands on today,’ she said, reaching into the front pocket of her uniform dress. ‘Two hundred dollars.’

  ‘No,’ protested Stephen, ‘you don’t have to—’

  ‘Please … take it. You’ll need it. You can pay me back once you’ve sorted everything out.’

  He was overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity shown by this caring and compassionate woman. It went against all his instincts to accept her offer but, inside, he knew she was right: he would need cash to get through the next day or two.

  ‘We-ell, if you’re sure.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Well, give me your contact details then. I promise you’ll get it all back, and more, just as soon I can send it to you.’

  She pulled out a business card from her pocket and scribbled something on the back. ‘That’s my home phone number and email.’

  ‘Thank you again,’ said Stephen, leaning forward to kiss her on bo
th cheeks.

  Her cheeks flushed; she turned her head momentarily to one side before turning back to look at him, a warm smile lighting up her pleasant features. ‘I’ll leave you to get dressed. Doctor Holt will be here shortly.’

  It was more than an hour later when the doctor finally appeared. ‘OK Stephen, please sign these papers, which release you from my care.’

  Stephen was surprised at the way his signature flowed from his fingertips as naturally as if nothing had happened to him at all.

  ‘But,’ continued the doctor, ‘if you have any further adverse symptoms, call me immediately.’ He handed Stephen his card. ‘And in any case,’ he added, ‘those stitches will need to be removed between next Thursday and next Sunday, so why don’t you come back then? After the nurse has removed the stitches I can give you another check over … just in case.’

  Thirty minutes later, Stephen stepped out of the main entrance to be greeted by a stifling blanket of hot, humid air, contrasting starkly with the air-conditioned environment of the hospital.

  Time to go and get my life back.

  Chapter 4

  ‘So … you in Miami for long?’ said the cab driver, swivelling his head towards Stephen, who was seated in the back of the car.

  ‘Uh … not sure at the moment.’

  ‘Oh, why’s that then?’

  ‘I just need to … uh, sort a few things out. I’m not sure how long it will take.’

  ‘Oh, not on vacation then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Business then?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘What kind of business you in then?’

  Stephen couldn’t have actually answered that question even if he had wanted to – which he didn’t. He was in no mood to engage in idle chatter with this man: his brain was too busy grappling with the significance of the conference and his own involvement with it.

  ‘It’s … complicated,’ was his cryptic reply.

  ‘Oh … how’s that then?’ persisted the driver, once again looking over his shoulder.

  ‘Look out!’ cried Stephen, pointing ahead as a black Chevy swerved to avoid them.

  ‘Whoa! Sorry about that. Guess I need to keep my eyes on the road.’

  ‘Yes, I think that’d be a good idea,’ said Stephen. ‘And by the way, I’m trying to read something here,’ he added, picking up the newspaper from his lap and holding it up where it could be seen in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘OK, pal … just trying to be sociable,’ muttered the driver.

  Stephen did not reply; the other man fell into a sullen silence.

  Stephen read the article about the conference again, this time continuing right to the end in the hope that it might shed more light on his situation. It didn’t.

  He turned the page back to the beginning of the article and looked again at the photograph alongside the headline. There were two men standing together: according to the caption, Professor Richard Mandelson and his sponsor, Bob Gench. The one on the left looked very familiar: narrow face; dark brown hair, slightly unkempt; round-rimmed spectacles. He assumed that the multi-billionaire tech giant and philanthropist Bob Gench must be a very well-known figure. He had probably seen the man’s photograph many times in the past, so it was no surprise that he recognised the image.

  But then he spotted something which sent a jolt right through him: according to the caption, Bob Gench was the man on the right. So the face which had seemed so familiar was actually that of Professor Mandelson. Why on earth should Stephen know that face so well?

  And then it came to him …

  With a blinding flash of insight, Stephen realised that he worked in the field of medical research, himself – at Oxford University in the UK. That was why he had come to Miami Beach to attend the conference. Of course he would have known of Professor Mandelson's work, and he would probably also have seen his photograph before. Perhaps he and Mandelson were even working in related fields. Yes! That was it: they were working on parallel lines of research. More than that – they had even been exchanging research findings via email. No wonder the professor’s name and photograph seemed so familiar. He tried to recall more about his relationship with Professor Mandelson. Was it restricted to exchange of research data, or had he actually met Mandelson in person? He didn’t think so, but in his current, confused state of mind he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure.

  These recollections had come in a giddying rush, but now his head ached with the effort of trying to tease more vital slivers of information from the most heavily-shrouded corners of his brain. For now, though, he could retrieve nothing more.

  But a picture was, slowly and painfully, starting to come together. Now if he could just find Emma, then—

  His thoughts were interrupted as the car lurched to a halt –rather more abruptly than necessary.

  ‘OK – we’re here. Thirty - two bucks.’ The man’s tone was distinctly frosty.

  Stephen paid the driver, offering a silent thank you to Kelly for her generosity as he counted out the exact money; he did not intend to waste any of his very limited resources on tips. As he stepped out of the car, he heard the driver mutter something under his breath. He didn’t stop to ask him to repeat it.

  ***

  The Palm Grove Hotel was an imposing sight: manicured lawns, punctuated by artfully-placed palm trees and fountains, framing a wide, curving driveway, which led to the smoked glass main entrance.

  He walked up to the main entrance where a uniformed bellboy greeted him with an effusive smile. He stood aside, dipping his head slightly as he ushered Stephen towards the door, which slid silently aside at his approach. Since the man didn’t even have to open the door for guests, Stephen wondered what, indeed, was the point of him being there at all. Hardly the most pressing question of the moment, he reminded himself.

  As he stepped into the entrance lobby, Stephen was enveloped in the freezing embrace of the over-zealous air conditioning. Too hot outside, and too bloody cold inside, he mused. The space was vast, with fluted columns extending towards a high, vaulted ceiling, and the marble floor polished to a dazzling sheen.

  He crossed the open floor and took his place behind a couple of other people standing at the reception desk. As he glanced to his left he saw a large banner, mounted on a metal stand.

  Welcome to the fourteenth annual Drug Addiction Conference – Monday, March 13th – Palm Grove Hotel Banqueting Hall.

  He looked all around, taking in the surroundings. Had he been here before? Nothing looked familiar. And yet, the more he trawled the ravaged ruins of his mind, the more he was convinced that he and Emma must have booked into the very same hotel, where the conference was to be held. Maybe they had just—

  ‘Can I help you sir?’

  The two people who had been standing in front of him were now both being attended to, and a third receptionist gestured for him to approach. She was an attractive thirty-something with olive-coloured eyes and dark hair, scraped back from her face and pinned firmly in place at the back. Her makeup was immaculate, as befitted front-of-house staff in an upmarket hotel such as this.

  ‘Are you checking in, sir?’ Her well-rehearsed smile revealed two rows of dazzling, white teeth.

  She did a pretty good job of pretending not to notice the bandage which Stephen still wore around his head, with only an almost-imperceptible flicker of the eyes betraying her. He resolved to get rid of the damned thing as soon as he could find Emma and get to his room; the bleeding had long since stopped. There would still be the matter of the shaved patch and the ugly stitches, but he still had most of his abundant shock of hair, which he wore quite long. A bit of artful rearrangement with a brush and comb would go some way towards disguising the site of the injury.

  ‘No, I believe my wife and I have already checked in.’

  A slight flicker of uncertainty flitted across her eyes.

  ‘Doctor and Mrs Stephen Lewis,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘So … how exactly can I help you, Doctor L
ewis?’

  ‘I need a room key.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve lost your entry card?

  ‘Not exactly … well, yes, I suppose so. I’ve had a … well, an accident … and now I don’t have my card.’

  Her brow furrowed. ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Just hold on a moment while I check …’ She tapped a few keys on her computer. ‘Ah yes, Doctor and Mrs. Lewis. Checked in on Thursday March 2nd.’

  His heart leapt: they were staying in the hotel. At last he would be able to find out if Emma was safe and well.

  ‘Now,’ continued the receptionist, ‘if you can just confirm your room number …’

  He sighed. ‘I’m afraid I can’t.’ He pointed to the bandage around his head. ‘I’ve suffered a head injury and … well I can’t remember everything properly.’

  ‘I see,’ she replied, her lips forming a lopsided pout as she tried to process this explanation, which he had to admit sounded rather lame, even though it was true. ‘Er, well, do you have some I.D. on you?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ he muttered, spreading his hands in a helpless shrug. ‘My passport and wallet are missing.’

  The receptionist was now looking distinctly unsettled, glancing to left and right as though searching for someone to come to her aid.

  ‘I lost them in the accident,’ he added. Judging by the expression on the girl’s face, he guessed that his attempts to expand on his explanation weren’t really helping.

  She looked at him with eyes that now looked distinctly unsettled. ‘I think I’m going to have to—’

  ‘Look, Kirsty’ – he read the name from the gold-coloured badge she was wearing – ‘I’m in a spot of trouble here. I’ve been missing for over four days; my wife will be worried sick. I need your help.’

  Her expression softened a little.

  ‘Can you just call her in our room and ask her to come down? She’ll identify me and confirm everything I’ve told you.’