Days 240 - 248

Day 240. “I am Detective Chief Inspector Books and this is DI Ternep.” Before I could stop myself I had said it. “Wow, that’s a turn up for the books.” “Heard it before,” said the rather bored looking woman.” “Now Ternep,” said DCI Books, “Read him his rights.” As the words I had heard so often in TV crime dramas were spoken I began to realise that this was serious, they were not play acting. They obviously believe I have done something and, as he was a DCI, something serious. “Wait a minute,” I shouted, ‘What are you accusing me of?”

Day 241. DCI Books produces a clear plastic bag containing the wallet I found when it fell out of the trousers on the beach. “Do you recognise this wallet?” he asks. I nod. ‘For the tape please. “Yes,” I say wondering how to explain it all. I found a wallet in a pair of trousers. When I opened it I saw a photograph of a man and a woman with two children. The man in the photo was me and a letter addressed to me was in there too. The only problem is, I have never seen the others in the photo before and I don’t know why the letter was to me. I decide to remain quiet for the moment. He lifts out another clear plastic bag. “Do you recognise this photograph?”

Day 242. “Do you recognise this photograph?” he repeats. I say “Yes,” as I briefly register the family of four picture but then “No!” as I lean in to look at it. It is the same woman, the same children but the man is no longer me. It is someone I do not know. “Can you clarify your answer please,” the woman DI asks. “Well,” I pause for a moment before stammering, “I thought it was me in the photograph. It used to be me in the photograph”

Day 243. “Can you explain what you mean by that?” says the DI with her world weary voice. I start, “When I first found this photograph in the wallet,” I pause for a moment wondering whether this will make any sense, “When I first found the photograph in the wallet from the trousers on the beach I was the man in that photo. ”But you’re not now,” says the DCI. “No,” I mutter, “I’m not now.

Day 244. “Do you know these people?” asks the DCI. “No,” I say honestly. “Then why did you think you were in the photograph?” asks the DI. “I have no idea, all I can tell you is that when I picked it up it was me cuddling that woman and my arm around the children. Are you sure that’s the same photograph?” “It is the photograph that was found by the wallet,” says the DI, “And if you don’t know these people why would there be a picture of you with them?’

Day 245. The DCI lifts up another clear plastic evidence bag containing the letter to me. “Do you recognise this letter?” This time I lean forward to look before I answer. “No” I say beginning to feel dizzy. The name on the letter is no longer mine but someone who I do not know. What the hell is going on? I clutch to the chair to stop myself from falling. Both police officers stare at me. “Is there anything you want to say?” the DCI asks.

Day 246. “What are you trying to do with me? Why are you playing with my mind? That letter was addressed to me. I don’t understand, I don’t understand,” I scream. They both sit back and stare at me. Finally the DCI lifts a manila folder onto the desk and opens it. He slides a photograph across the deskand spins it with his fingers so it is the right way up for me. It is a photograph of a body on a beach. “Do you know this man?” he asks. “Yes,” I say and they both lean forward as one. “Who is he?” the DCI asks staring hard at me eyes. “It’s the man in the photo,” I say.

Day 247. “Don’t get clever with me,’ says the DI. “And don’t get clever with me,” I shout, suddenly remembering an old episode of Finnington of the Yard, “I don’t have to answer your questions. I want to see a solicitor and I demand my phone call. In the last few days I have been dragged from the water, brought back to life, hospitalized, psychoanalysed and now treated like a criminal. What the hell is going on?” The DCI sits back and looks me straight in the eyes, “That’s exactly what we are trying to find out. Give him his phonecall.”

Day 248. The interview is paused as a phone is brought in. It is banged down onto the desk in front of me. I reach out to pick up the receiver when I suddenly realise, I don’t know who to call. I’m not sure what is real and what is not real. I don’t know which life I am in. I can feel tears form in my eyes. I shudder and pick up the phone. I dial the only number I can remember. After three rings it is answered and I hear a voice I recognise, Mine.