The Returned Dead. Rafe Kronos
wearing off so he's begun to remember he’s Rankin. But why would anyone want to do that to Rankin?”
I thought for a moment, "Well, there's one very obvious reason."
She was on to it in an instant; she is very bright. "Oh, you mean they needed a substitute Baxendale because the genuine one had died or was missing? OK, let’s follow that idea. Why would someone choose Rankin?” Another brief pause then, “Well, the obvious reason is because he looked like Baxendale. If you needed a Baxendale substitute then it would be best to start with someone who looked like him. Do you think that could explain it?”
I wanted her to go on with her theorising. “Perhaps,” I said.
“OK, Charlie, so where does that take us?” She pulled a face. “Not a lot further, I think. No, as an explanation it stinks, it’s still completely unbelievable. Do you really think someone could get hold of Rankin, leave another body in his place, presumably one that also looked just like him -- because we know three people identified a body as his -- and then somehow convince Rankin he is Baxendale?”
“If he looked like Baxendale then Baxendale must have looked like him,” I pointed out. “So perhaps if Baxendale had died they could stick his corpse in Rankin’s bed and people would think the dead man was Rankin. If Baxendale was very rich then they might have needed him to stay alive even if he was dead.”
“No, Charlie, I still can’t believe it. The whole operation would be much too complicated. Think about what it would involve: they would have to know about Rankin, have him lined up in case they needed him, then somehow drug him, taken him away, dump the dead Baxendale in his bed and then make Rankin believe he was Baxendale. Come on, Charlie, it’s one impossible thing after another. How they could convince Rankin he was Baxendale? How could they manage to do that?”
We were edging towards a subject that scared me because so much turned on it. After a moment of hesitation I forced myself to speak. "Well, for a start I guess they’d need to wipe out Rankin’s memories. If they were to re-programme him as Baxendale they’d need to start with a clean sheet by removing everything he could recall about his previous life."
Was that possible, could memories be erased? Could someone be given a mind cleared of memories? The idea was wonderfully attractive.
She pulled a face. “OK, just let’s suppose that’s possible – and I’m not saying it is, because I don’t think it is -- then I doubt it could be achieved overnight. They’d need time to empty Rankin’s mind and then they’d need more time to convince him he’s Baxendale.”
Suppose really terrible memories could be erased? How could it be done, what would it cost? I had to force myself to listen to what Kate was saying.
“OK, so let’s consider the time-line – or at least what our man said was the time-line. According to him there was a six month gap in his Baxendale life when he was in hospital in a coma. Then he came out of the coma and he was taught he was – is -- Baxendale.”
“OK, it might work. They get hold of Rankin and they have six months to somehow empty out his Rankin memories. Then, after those six months, he wakes up with a completely blank mind and this Debby woman teaches him everything, but everything, about being Baxendale and convinces him he’s Baxendale who’s been sick for six months.”
I’d noticed a feature of Baxendale’s story that could be relevant; I wondered if she’d spotted it. It could make the whole story slightly more believable.
“And another thing, Charlie: you know he said he woke up and found this woman Debby by his bed? Before all that vomit-making yukky stuff about how beautiful she is and how deeply he loves her?” Her voice dripped acid powerful enough to burn through armour plate.
I tried not to grin; Kate may be beautiful but there is absolutely no room for romance in her ruthlessly rational approach to life. I often wondered what had made her that way. “Yes?”
“Well, he said she whispered something to him. When you asked him what it was, he said he couldn’t remember – even though he’d tried. And he also said Debby couldn’t remember what she’d said to him. Now I find that very interesting.”
She’d got there. I let out a long breath and congratulated myself on hiring her – smug bastard Dawson, that was me.
“So what does that sound like to you, Charlie?”
I knew what it sounded like but I just shrugged my shoulders again. There is no harm in letting her think she is brighter than I am. Besides, I suspect she is.
“It sounds to me like it could be a post-hypnotic trigger. You know, Charlie, you hypnotise someone and when they are in a trance you tell them that when they wake up they’re going to have a wooden left leg or be a gorilla – but only when someone utters the key phrase that you implant in their memory. When someone says the phrase it serves as the trigger. So then you bring them out of the trance and they act completely normally. But hours, even days later someone says the magic phrase and suddenly they start hobbling about like Long John Silver or beating their chest and searching their armpits for fleas. So perhaps when Baxendale woke up this Debby bird said the implanted words that would make him believe he was her husband.”
She thought for a moment then shook her head and said, “No, Charlie, no. It’s all fantasy. I still can’t believe it. No way. No, definitely no.”
Still shaking her head she handed back the newspaper clipping. “Enough of this, we’re wasting time. We need to get out and ask questions instead of sitting here. Facts, we need facts, you taught me that. Facts, Charlie, facts,” she repeated. It was her usual way of prodding me into action.
She was staring at me. “You still don’t look very happy. What’s bothering you?”
“What’s bothering me are all the leads, all the names and dates and places. He’s handed us all the things that can prove he’s been telling a load of lies. There’s something odd there and it’s giving me a bad feeling. I’m beginning to wonder if we’re being set up.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
I shook my head but said nothing. To explain why someone might be planning to harm us I would have to tell her about my past and I wasn’t going to do that.
We sat in silence, each thinking our own thoughts; mine were especially dark. Eventually Kate said, “Well, I repeat, the only way to make progress is to establish some hard facts. The obvious place to start is to check on Rankin, the very dead Rankin, the very seriously cremated Rankin.”
I grunted my agreement and began to divide the tasks between us. Kate would follow up all the paper traces people leave as they move through life: Rankin’s death certificate, the birth and marriage certificates of him, Felicity and his parents, the ownership of Rankin Motors, the record of the doctor who signed his death certificate, in fact everything she could think of.
“And find out everything you can about how his wife died in the hit and run. Dig out the reports, there might be something there. Find out everything about it,” I instructed.
“Just in case,” she added.
“Yes, just in case,” I said, as I always did in these circumstances, “just in case.”
She grinned her usual mocking grin but I knew she’d do it.
My role was to speak to the people who might have known Rankin. I took that area of the investigation because, except in special circumstances, Kate is much too attractive to be sent out to ask questions. Because she is so beautiful people remember her and that can cause problems as an investigation develops. I by contrast am so unmemorable that five minutes after I’ve left most people find it hard to describe me or even be sure they’ve seen me. I like it that way. There is another reason I do not want Kate