mistakenidentity

The smell of wet oak leaves crushed and brown, layered and passing into the pungent earth. Twigs and acorn shells were pressing into his flesh. He was soaked through to the skin and only the sound was the incessant rain, now and again a bird call and his own breathing. He lay there semi-conscious until his mind returned then he raised himself up against the tree trunk and rested his head on his knees.

The lump on the back of his head ached all down his neck. He raised his head slowly and looked straight ahead, trying to dispel the double vision. Consciousness returned to him in a deep ravine that was rapidly filling with water from the pouring rain. He’d nearly drowned before scrambling up the side.

He shivered in the chill of the evening, hugging his arms to his body. Along with the contents of his pockets, his memory was missing. He neither knew who he was, where he was nor how he’d come to be there.

Gemma chewed on a pen, looking over at Max’s empty desk at the rain-washed window. He’d been acting very strange since his return from Provence. Sir Nigel gave him twenty four hours yesterday to make up his mind and he was already down in the conference room presumably to receive Max’s reply. However, Maxie was missing from the building. She’d called him several times and left messages on his phone.

She walked into his office. It was quiet and neat and his laptop was still locked up. It all pointed to the fact that he’d not been in the bank since he left the evening before. After giving him a week’s hiatus for his actions on the trading floor, Sir Nigel offered him a partnership or a generous severance package. Whichever way Maxie was leaning he’d be sure to put in an appearance. He’d be there at the appointed time to meet with Sir Nigel. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t at his apartment either. She’d already contacted the front desk and spoken with Bert. He hadn’t come home.

Gemma wasn’t exactly worried for his welfare. She was aggravated with him. It was her job, too, that was on the line. He wasn’t dating anyone in particular right now but of course that didn’t rule out his meeting someone the night before and going home with her. Whatever the reason for his lateness, unless he was in hospital, it was a very irresponsible thing for him to do and he wasn’t known for irresponsibility where his job was concerned.

“No, and you can forget about sitting in his chair today.” She pushed by him, closing Max’s office door behind her.

Kenny handed her a bundle of mail and gave Max’s office a frown before heading for the escalator. It was because of Max he was humping mail from office to office instead of putting his feet up on Max’s desk right now. “Bloody bugger!” he growled.

Gemma went to her own desk and looked up Charlie Willis’s phone number. She knew he’d had dinner with him before he’d gone to Provence.

“No-o, that’s why I’m calling you. He hasn’t come in or called. I’ve been trying to get him all morning. He has a meeting in about ten minutes with Sir Nigel. I thought you might have an idea where he might be.”

“That’s nothing unusual, is it? He probably met some young and lovely and had a change of plans.”

“I considered that but it’s not like him not to be here in the morning, especially this morning when he has an important meeting. You don’t suppose he’s gone back to France, do you? He’s been acting awfully strange since he returned.”

“I don’t think he would. He signed the papers and the chateau is sold. His business there is finished.”

“All right,” she sighed, “if you hear from him please tell him to call me.”

Meanwhile, she was going to have to tell Sir Nigel he wasn’t in. The choice of a future partnership or redundancy would be a moot point. Sir Nigel would make it for him. “Time to pack my Smurfs.”

“Thorne, hey, Thorne…I thought that was you. Haven’t seen you in awhile. You don’t come around anymore.”

“Hello, David. Not much reason for me to visit an old employer. How’s things?”

“Still missing me after all this time?” Terry smiled and shifted the bag on his shoulder.

“Anytime you want to come back…come and see me. I’ll put you right on and no more running around airports.”

“I knew you’d do well. I just hated to see you leave. How’s Mr. O’Brien?”

“I’m going to Paris for a few days and then I’m going to visit my money.”

“Not bragging, David, just telling it like it is. How about you? Where are you flying off to?”

“I wish you luck. I need to make my flight.” Terry saluted him with his boarding pass.

Outside the airport the wind was blowing rain in gusts against the building. Terry boarded his plane, feeling the force of the storm. He didn’t like to fly in foul weather and the forecast for France didn’t look much better.

He settled in his first class seat and placed a call to Dino. “Hey, I’m on board a plane getting ready to fly to Paris. Where are you?”

“We got word you’d been kidnapped. An email came into Rocco about 2:00 this morning. We’ve been frantically trying to reach you.”

“I had my phone off. Sorry about that…what the heck is this about a kidnapping?”

“Wasn’t me. I can testify to that. I was, uh, otherwise engaged last night.”

“You fuckin’ shit. I notified the local police and Scotland Yard, and I’m about ready to call in a crew to go looking for your ass and you’re…”

“I’m making reservations as we speak on a United flight to Cayman. You’d better get your ass down there.”

Dino stared at his phone after Terry rang off. Somebody had been kidnapped that looked an awfully lot like Terry. He went back to his computer and brought up the picture of the man the kidnappers identified as Thorne. The picture had come in with the threat. The guy looked like he hadn’t shaved in a while but he’d seen Terry look nearly the same after a few days in the field. He shook his head slightly and then he made his calls back to Scotland Yard and the London police department he’d contacted.

“It’s not Terry Thorne. I just spoke with him on the phone. I don’t know who it is but he’s a dead ringer for Thorne…maybe a few pounds heavier. I can’t help you, man. I haven’t a clue, sorry.” And he was sorry. Once the kidnappers found out they’d picked up the wrong man they’d likely kill him.

He rubbed his face. This was probably a good time for Thorne to be leaving London. Some son of a bitch wanted him. He went about packing his clothes for the trip to the Caymans. However, he couldn’t leave it alone. Why was Terry a target for kidnapping? The ‘nappers needed to be found.

He’d been awake, waiting for dawn, cold, wet and shivering. With its arrival, and it was only a lightening of the sky, he tried to stand up. He was sore and ached all over and the only thing he could attribute it to was the ravine. Maybe he’d fallen in…he just didn’t know. He held onto the tree for a moment and staggered off into the woods. After a while he came to a field and he could hear cars and lorries passing by. He tried crossing the field but it was more of a bog and so he skirted around the trees until he found the road.

The wind was blowing rain so hard it actually hurt his skin. Everything hurt. He stumbled along the road with his hands in his wet pockets, huddled in his wet suit jacket. Vehicles whizzed by him and some liked to blow their horns, giving his head a jolt. A van stopped a few feet in front of him.

The driver was a decorator and he pulled up in front of a block of flats. “This is it, mate.”

“Thanks,” he said and stepped out onto the wet walkway. He knew what area of London he was in because the driver had told him. It meant nothing to him. He began to walk, hoping something familiar would jump out at him. He passed by a tea room and longed for a cup of hot tea and something to eat. He had no idea when he’d last eaten but his stomach told him it had been awhile. He hadn’t any money.

People passed by with their umbrellas, looking warily at him, soaked to the skin. At least the rain had washed off most of the mud and debris. He kept his head down.

“Oh, Mr. Thorne, glad I caught you. I had a package and hated it leave it in the rain.” It was a mail carrier.

“Well, sir, I recognize you. A bit of luck, wasn’t it?” He smiled cheerily and walked on down the street in his waterproof coat.

He looked down at the package and at the address. He was one door from the building.

“I’ll be mopping puddles up all day. How are ya Mr. Thorne? I’ve left it all nice and tidy for you.”

He looked at her and licked his lips. “Do you have a key? I seem to have lost mine.” He stood across from her in the tiled entry of the house of flats, making a puddle around his feet.

He followed her up the stairs to a door and she opened it for him. “You’d better dry off before you catch your death.”

“Thank you.” That was a bit of luck finding the char still at work. He took off his shoes inside the door. Nothing looked familiar to him. Did he live here? He must. People said he did…the mailman and the charwoman.

He took off his wet coat and tie and walked through the flat. Finding a bath and bedroom he stripped off his clothes and took a hot bath. Later, warmed somewhat, he wrapped himself in the robe he found on back of the bathroom door and went into the kitchen. First order was tea and it took him a while to find the kettle, teabags and a mug. Sitting at the table with his tea, he loosened his robe and looked again at the bruises on his body.

With the tea sitting on his stomach, he searched the cupboards for something else. He opened two tins of things, beans, and a can of tomato soup and a bag of crisps. He found beer, wine and a small wedge of cheese in the fridge but no milk for tea or any bread in the cupboard. With his stomach pangs served, he searched the likely places and found some headache tablets. Two of the tablets and a glass of water. The lump on his head was still tender to touch. He sat down on the sofa and turned on the TV. Everything was a little fuzzy as though he couldn’t focus properly.

After a while he gave up the TV and started for the bedroom but his stomach revolted and sent him to the bathroom.

He thought it the odd combination of things he’d eaten. He went to bed feeling rough, feeling cold again. Thorne…his name was Terry Thorne. Last thoughts before drifting off in a feverish sleep.

Superintendent Huggins again studied the picture on his computer screen. If it wasn’t Terry Thorne then who the hell was it? Some poor sod kidnapped by mistake.

“Yes, odd situation here. Early yesterday morning this came over from the states, a picture of a man claimed to be Terry Thorne. The message that came with it said he would be executed unless a large sum of money, 500,000 pounds, was paid. They gave a time limit of 36 hours and a drop for the ransom. A few minutes ago I get a phone call from the same fellow, a Mr. Dino O’Brien, saying he’d spoken to Mr. Thorne and upon a careful second look it wasn’t him in the picture, although he says this guy is a dead ringer for him.”

“Hmm?” Chief Inspector Burton studied the picture. “No idea who this man really is, then?”

“None. I’ve got Sgt. Crewes running the picture through our files to see if she can find a match.”

“He’s involved in the business, actually. Kidnap and ransom. People take out insurance for that sort of thing, you know. When it happens these fellows negotiate with the kidnappers until they reach a reasonable sum agreeable to both parties and the insurance company pays the ransom. Sometimes it goes badly and they have to go in and rescue the victim. At least that’s how it was explained by Mr. O'Brien.”

“On his way to Paris. He left this morning. He knew nothing about the kidnapping."

“Yes, I do think. I’ve got his mobile number, however he’s still in the air.”

“I am but I think we need to determine that it is, in fact, a case. For all we know it’s a hoax. I mean, that did cross my mind; anytime there’s money involved.”

“O'Brien and Thorne? I’ve checked them out already. Thorne lives in London and O’Brien in Miami. Their base of operation is in the Caymans.”

“Could be some past grudge against them, somebody not happy with the payoff.”

“Well, whatever it is, we need to find them and find this poor fellow before they do something drastic to him. Here’s O’Brien’s number. I spoke with him about an hour ago.”

“Gemma, darling, I’ve been trying to reach Max by phone and about knocked his door down without any success. Help me out.”

“Charlie, if you are looking for Max I can’t help you. After I talked with you the other day I had to clean out my desk and leave the bank. Sir Nigel was very upset that he didn’t bother to attend the meeting.”

“I’m getting a little upset myself. I have a large check sitting here with his name on it. It bothers me a lot because I don’t feel right celebrating alone with my commission.”

“I have talked with some of the girls in the office and Max has not been back to the bank. No one has heard from him.”

“I called the bistro in Gordes that Fanny runs. She’s his Provence squeeze, by the way, and she has not seen him or heard from him.”

“He should have claimed the severance payment Sir Nigel left for him, too. Have you checked hospitals? He could be ill.”

“No, but I will. Keep in touch, will you? I’ll let you know if I find him.”

Charlie gave his secretary the task of checking all hospitals for Max Skinner. When she came back without a find he sat back in his chair worried. “Get me a cab.”

“I really don’t care to hear about your security measures, Bert. The man has not been seen in two days. I say let’s open his flat and see if he’s lying dead up there.” Charlie raised a brow. That seemed to interest Bert, the desk jockey.

Charlie went through Max’s flat and found nothing out of order. His cell phone charger was still plugged in on the kitchen counter but the phone was missing. He tried Max’s phone again and it rang and rang until his voice mail picked up. “Call me,” he said. “I’m getting desperate.”

Bert tried to hide his disappointment in the elevator at not finding Max’s body laid out in the flat.

Charlie proceeded to make the round of the bars and restaurants Max frequented and asked questions of mutual acquaintances. Max seemed to have simply disappeared. He began thinking about alerting the police. Instead he met Gemma for a drink to discuss Max’s disappearance

“Well, I’ve tentatively canceled Cayman. This thing in London with your kidnapping is turning into a situation. I’ve been on the phone with a Chief Inspector Burton of the London Police. They’re taking this seriously, Tio. Somebody’s life is in danger because he was mistaken for you.”

“Bloody hell, Dino, who would be kidnapping me?” Terry put a finger in his ear and moved away from the tracks.

“You want the laundry list? Truth is I don’t know off hand. You’ve pissed somebody off big time. Could be it’s a get even kinda shit.”

“Yeah…could be. Well,” he looked around the station, “what do I need to do, go back to London?”

“I don’t think so, Terry. I think you’d better keep a low profile until this is sorted out.”

“I’ll go on into Paris but I’m going to cancel the room I had booked. I’ll find something else."

Terry found a room in a small hotel and canceled the room he had booked. He was concerned about the kidnapping, too. He spent some time thinking about who might want a piece of him.

“I got his number. Give him a call. He’s a decent fella to talk to. Lay low, Terry.”

“I’m about as low as I’ve ever been in Paris. Not even you know where I’m staying.”

Max woke in the middle of the night with a confirmed fever. He began looking for more clothes and found sweat pants and a tee shirt. Still with the warm robe wrapped around him, he went back to the kitchen and made more tea. His stomach seemed to have settled down but he didn’t chance anymore food. The tea soothed his rough throat for awhile. He went back to bed, easing his head down on the pillow. Aside from the tender lump, his head ached with the fever. He rolled around for awhile and got up again, looking for headache tablets. He found some cold meds in the bathroom cupboard. While he was in there he went through the drawers and cabinets. Everything was neatly put away just as he’d found the kitchen.

He’d noticed there wasn’t a lot of clutter in the flat other than books and DVD’s and CD’s. He wandered into the living room to see what kind of movies and music he liked. He picked up a CD and sat down on the sofa. This not knowing or remembering anything bothered him greatly. Considering the bruises on his body, he was beginning to wonder if the lump on his head had anything to do with his memory loss. He touched it gently. He was still having bouts of double vision. He had to squint to read the CD. Maybe he wore glasses…but he couldn’t find any.

He tossed the CD on the coffee table and looked around the room. There had to be something he’d remember, something…

Half an hour later he’d been through everything in the room and it was all strange to him. Nothing sparked any recognition. He took himself back to bed and pulled the covers over his head. Five minutes later he was standing in front of the fridge, having remembered seeing a photograph. He looked at it now, holding it away from him and under the hood light on the stove. It was of a man and a boy. Was that him? Oh, bollocks, did he have a kid?”

It would be helpful if he had a photograph of the missing Max Skinner. Charlie left the police station trying to remember if he had a photo. The last thing he could remember was back in their university days. He called Gemma to see if she might have a recent photo but she did not. They’d decided the evening before that Max was indeed missing and it was time to report it.

“That’s him there in the center. It was a practice day as I remember it.” Charlie passed over the unearthed picture of Max.

Feeling that he’d done all he could he left the police station and went to work.

CI Burton and Sgt. Crewes left their vehicle in the carpark of The Winds of Time pub and rushed through the rain to the door. Certain inquiries led them to look for a man who might shed some light on the kidnapping. The Serbian community was a tight knit unit but perseverance would pay off eventually. It was not the ham-fisted man with the pint of bitter but the slight young man with him that offered up a name.

“Let’s have a list of his mates then.” Sgt. Crews pulled out her notebook.

In another part of London two uniformed policemen were beginning their inquiries about a missing banker named Maximillian Skinner.

Dino noted the time when he awoke and placed a call to CI Burton but was informed he was out. The time for delivering the money had come and gone. The Brits had put up surveillance of the drop off point but so far nothing had been reported.

Dino made himself a pot of coffee. He contacted Rocco and learned that no further contact had been received from the kidnappers. The whole thing reeked of an amateurish attempt to him. Still it was dangerous because amateurs were more likely to do something stupid like get scared and kill the poor bastard.

It was raining in Paris, too, but not the downpour they were having in London. Still it was enough to keep Terry inside. He rushed from his hotel to a little café for a bite to eat. The café smelled of garlic and coffee. He ordered a coffee and a non-garlic laced entree. The café was small and crowded with tables on this rainy day. Hardly a table’s breadth away sat a young woman staring into her coffee cup. She looked rather sad, he thought.

She froze in the half stance and stared at him. “Max? No-o.” She sat back down and apologized.

“Fanny Chanel. You look so much like him, I thought…but, no, he’s gone.”

They fell into conversation and she told him she was in Paris to talk with a wine merchant.

“That’s why I like it. It’s not so crowded. How long will you be in Paris?”

“I go home tomorrow. I had my meeting this morning and another later today.”

“I can see it now, you sitting alone at your table and me sitting alone at mine. At least we could share a bottle of wine.”

Something about him was so…he looked so much like Max. But of course he wasn’t. “There is a little place by the hotel on the corner. They serve good authentic Parisian food. It’s not too pricey.”

“I’ll meet you there at 8:00.” If it hadn’t been for the resemblance she wouldn’t have even talked to him. But it was only dinner…only dinner for her heart had left with Max.

Max pulled the duvet to the sofa and turned on the TV. He had already found a bottle of liquor and a glass. It was serving as medicine. He’d dosed himself with tablets but they did little for the cough he’d developed. He supposed he might need medical attention but without his health card and no idea if he had a private doctor he settled into the fug he’d worked up on the sofa. Warm and cozy, he drifted off to sleep and missed the midday news report of a missing banker by the name of Maximillian Skinner.

The flat had gone dark while he slept and when he woke he turned on lamps and was back in the kitchen, starving again. This time he was a little more thoughtful of what he ate. He made himself a cheese omelet and a cup of coffee. Feeling better with a meal on his stomach, he set about searching the flat for any information he could find on himself.

He went through the desk, noting bills paid and unpaid. A paid charge account listed several purchases in Miami. Miami? The bank statements interested him for some reason. It was like an account of the past month, a month he couldn’t remember. He evidently ate out a lot. There were regular deposits transferred from a bank on Grand Cayman. He frowned at that. It all seemed so…not him. In no way could he relate to the information he was gleaning from the bank statements. Even going back three months…nothing. He stuffed them back in the file folder and placed it back in the drawer. He hoped to find a bill for a cell phone that might help but there wasn’t anything relating to a phone. The computer was locked up and he couldn’t remember his password to get into it. It was frustrating to say the least.

He was back staring at the photograph on the fridge, this time with a magnifying glass he’d found in the desk. This must be Henry Thorne. He’d found regular transfer of funds into an account for him. Staring at the photo, he didn’t feel anything. You’d think if that was his son he’d…was he married? But, no, nothing in the flat would indicate a woman’s presence. Maybe he was divorced…maybe Henry was his brother? His head ached with the thinking. The photo was taken on a soccer field. That he could determine. He ran his hand through his hair. It must have been taken some time ago. His hair was longer now. He rubbed his chin…he hated to shave. AH! He did, that he knew about himself but in the photo he was clean shaven. Hard to tell, really, when the photo was taken. It could be years old. He sighed.

Before going to bed he was standing in the closet having a look at his wardrobe. He wasn’t pleased with the ties and fingered the fabric on a jacket. He didn’t realize his own personal tastes were surfacing. His tailored suit was still in a clump on the bathroom floor. In fact the well ordered tidy flat he’d entered was taking on a different look with Max in residence. He wasn’t by nature an untidy person but he was sick and didn’t much care.

“Elephant ‘n’ Castle, won’t it? Just larking about. Vic’s been in a brown. He wants to take issue with everything. Near started a fight. So I says to him, what’s eatin’ at ya? He says it’s me father.”

“His father were double crossed and he knows who did it. He knows who the man was and he knows he’s in London because he’s seen the name.”

“Ah,” Burton smiled, “good lad.”

“It’s really sad when you think about it. All he ever did was work. I can’t imagine what he’ll do now.”

Gemma took a drink from her glass. She’d gone from being aggravated at him to worrying now that he’d been gone for three days. She shared Charlie’s concerns.

Charlie sighed, “If he hadn’t sold the chateau…I think he had second thoughts about it there at the end, but he signed the papers. I mean it would have given him something…somewhere to go after the bank.”

“Eh, he’ll find another job. I hear Amis had been celebrating his dismissal.”

“One of my agents said he saw it on TV today so I suppose everyone will know. He’ll be so embarrassed and pissed about that. I felt I had to go to the police.”

“You did the right thing, Charlie. We don’t know, do we? He may have taken a holiday or something dreadful has happened.”

“It’s not like him to take a holiday, especially after having one imposed on him in France. He never takes a holiday.”

“That’s because he knew what would happen at the bank. They are all sharks there just waiting.”

“Sounds horrible. I like his penchant for making money. He’s awfully good at it.”

“Yes, but the thing is it was his life. It was all he ever did. I worry now that he won’t have that and there is nothing else.”

Charlie took a sip of his wine and savored it. “You know, if he was offered a partnership and he didn’t take it right away, then I have to wonder what he had in mind.”

He examined his glass. “You don’t think he was going to chuck it all, do you?”

“Something happened to him in Provence. I don’t know what but he was not the same when he returned.”

“I think I know…he fell in love.” Charlie set his glass down and ran a hand across his mouth. It would be a bittersweet commission check he deposited when Max was found.

“Come here and look at this.” Superintendent Huggins stepped back from his desk. “His name is Maximillian Skinner. He’s an investment banker reported missing this morning. That photo was taken when he was still at university. Now add this one beside of it.” He keyed in a few commands.

“We’ll soon find out. I now know where Victor Sklovensky works. Victor is the seventeen year old mastermind behind this kidnapping. Crewes and I are on our way over there now.”

“Good. This is moving along nicely.” Huggins smiled and Burton left in a hurry.

“Vic? Yeah, he works here but he hasn’t shown up for the last two days. When he does I’m likely to let him go.”

“Um, I couldn’t say. Ask the bartender. He usually stops for a drink at the bar.”

“Thorne…now that you mention it.” He studied the picture again. “Nah, Thorne’s got a little scar right over his right eyebrow. Good likeness, though.”

The bartender looked over the picture. “Yeah, that’s Max Skinner. I saw he was missing on TV. Are you looking for him?”

He thought a minute and opened a drawer behind the bar. “Yeah, he was in here and left his tab.”

“Right. He left his drink on the bar and I thought he went to the loo but he never came back. He’s good for it…always pays up and never any problem with him.”

“Can’t say as I did but I had help behind the bar that night. One of the girls could have.”

“Time we paid Victor a visit.” Chief Inspector Burton buckled his seat belt and glanced over at Sgt. Crewes.

Terry waited at the door for Fanny and she was right on time. She smiled when she saw him.

“Well, we might have. The problem is his life is in London and mine is here. I live in Provence because that is where I want to live. He inherited a vineyard and he’s sold it and gone back to London. So you can say we might have if we could ever get our lives in the same place.”

Terry sat back in his chair. “You’re the second person that’s remarked on the resemblance. Well, I shouldn’t say second person…but it’s come up lately.”

“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have spent my time with you talking about someone else. It’s …well, his friend Charlie called me looking for him. He should know Max would not be here because he handled the sale of the vineyard. There is no reason for him to be here.”

“I don’t agree. There’s every reason for him to be here. There’s you.”

“You are very sweet.” She smiled over her wineglass. “What happened to your brow? You have a scar.”

“Oh, that…it’s a complicated story but I was hanging off the side of this helicopter and…”

Max woke the next morning feeling much better. He still had a headache he couldn’t seem to get rid of. His fever was down but the sore throat and cough were still with him. In the bath he noticed his bruises were fading. It was time to get out and about and try and piece together his life. He was running out of groceries and without his wallet that could be a problem.

Something else was a problem, too. He tried on just about every pair of pants and jeans he could find. Everything was too tight in the waist. He sat on the side of the bed and wondered how that could be. He retrieved his dried wadded up suit from the bathroom floor and checked the waistband. Unfortunately for him the size belonged to his tailor. Finally dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a knit hoodie he sat down at the desk and began searching in earnest. What he needed was some kind of ID and a checkbook. He found a box of checks.

Chief Inspector Burton sat at the metal table in the interview room looking at the scared, defiant young man across from him. He’d already confessed to the abduction. He had accosted Skinner as he came out of the men’s room. Told him he needed some help with a keg. Once out of the restaurant his mate knocked him out with a baton. They tied him to a chair in a garage. After discovering they had the wrong man he and his mate proceeded to knock him around a little.

“He was tied to a chair in the garage and Clive hit him. The chair turned over. We thought he was dead at first. His head cracked on the paved floor.”

“He was still breathing so we loaded him in the boot and drove out in the country. We dumped him in a ravine.”

The story pretty much matched what they already had from his mate, Clive Henderson. Burton called in two uniformed policemen. Victor was going to lead them to where he dumped Max Skinner.

By midday they gave up the search of the wooded area behind the ravine. A man had come forward and claimed to have given a lift to a bloke who fit the description of Max Skinner.

After interviewing the decorator, Burton said, “He’s alive and well…so why hasn’t he come forward and reported the kidnapping?” He tapped a pencil on his notepad.

They began knocking on doors in the area where Max had been dropped off.

With a cup of coffee in hand, Dino checked his e-mail. He picked up his phone and called Terry.

“They’ve got the little bastards that kidnapped Max Skinner but still haven’t found him. He’s a banker that was reported missing.”

“Yeah, far as we know. He got a lift into London. Here’s the thing, Terry, the kidnapper is a seventeen year old kid trying to avenge his father. That little deal you pulled off in Serbia with the trunk full of porno resulted in his father being shot. Sklovensky…ring a bell?”

“Wait a minute…I had dinner last night with a woman who kept talking about Max. She said we were doubles. She knows him, Dino.”

Terry grinned, “Could have been, mate. I think I’m going home. I’d like to talk to this kid.”

Terry booked himself on the 2:00 flight out of Paris for London.

Charlie Willis stared at the closing door of his office. Two uniformed policemen had just paid him a visit about his missing friend. Max had been kidnapped. The kidnappers were in custody but Max was still missing. He feared the worst.

Max took it easy going down the steps from the flat. He’d left the door unlocked and he worried about that but he didn’t have a key and the flat had not produced a spare. He found out quickly that he was still a little wobbly and held on to the wrought iron fence as he slowly made his way down the sidewalk. He had on a pair of sunglasses because his first foray outside sent him reeling back inside. The sunlight sent a sharp pain through his eyes and head. He had a book of checks in his pocket and was looking for a bank.

Totally disoriented, he’d stopped several times, holding onto a lamppost and a telephone box. Finally he stopped someone and asked where the nearest bank might be.

“I’ve lost my wallet and all my cards and identification were inside. I do have my last bank statement with me.” That had been a last minute thing he’d thought of.

The teller looked at the check again and then looked at him. She took the bank statement and called someone else over.

He knew it wasn’t going well. You couldn’t just go into a bank and write a check without identification. He also knew what was coming next.

He sat across the desk and told his story again of how he’d lost his wallet and ID. He’d run out of food and he’d been sick and…

“Well, Sir, you see the problem here.” The man slid his check across the desk.

“You’ve spelled your name wrong, haven’t you? I’m afraid your signature doesn’t match our records.” He turned his computer screen so Max could see it.

T-H-O-R-N, he’d signed the check without an E. He closed his eyes. “I have no idea.”

“Another thing, the check is out of sequence.” He looked at the bank statement and pointed it out to Max.

Max thought about telling the man what he’d been through for the past four days but he knew it would not make a difference. For some reason he couldn’t even spell his name correctly or sign his name to a check. He threw up his hands and the man called security.

Max had a very distinct handwriting and it wasn’t even close to what the bank had on file for Terry Thorne. He took one last look at the bank through the window of the police car as he was driven away.

“Of all the bleedin’ mess.” The charwoman, Mattie Bell, walked around in Terry’s flat, looking in the kitchen and living room.

Chief Inspector Burton stood in the living room. “You say he came in on Monday?”

“Look at this!” She looked in the sink at the dishes. “Yes, it were Monday. It were pouring out rain and he’d forgot his umbrella and his key. I hadda let him in.”

“He were here. I’d just cleaned this flat. I allus come on Monday’s to clean his flat.”

Burton and Crewes came across the woman cleaning the door of the building. She’d been surprised to find the door unlocked to Mr. Thorne’s flat.

Burton walked through the flat and noticed the desk drawers open, noticed the clothes on the floor in the bedroom.

“Call and make sure Thorne was in Paris.” He looked over at Crewes, who pulled out her phone and walked back to the living room.

He went into the bathroom and kicked at a pile of towels in the floor. One had a swipe of blood on it.

While Crewes waited for confirmation that Thorne had flown out on Monday she noticed a box opened on a lamp table and picked it up. The box looked as though it had been wet. It was addressed to Terry Thorne from Amazon. A book lay beside it still wrapped in plastic.

They didn’t quite know what to do with Max. He told them he was Terry Thorne and the bank manager insisted he was not. He was put in a holding tank until further inquiries could be made. Charges had not been filed against him as yet. They needed his correct identity and Max couldn’t provide it.

He hadn’t been in confinement long until he passed out. When he was found he was taken to hospital.

He was examined thoroughly, his bruises noted and probed. At last the lump on his head was noticed and he was sent for a scan. The scan produced two fractures to his skull. The doctors questioned the police ,who really had no answers for his condition. He was admitted to the hospital as Terry Thorne.

Terry Thorne arrived back on English soil at 3:00 and took the train into London. He was debating whether to go straight to the police or to his flat. He opted for the flat to dispose of his travel bag.

“Sorry, sir, you can’t go in there,” the uniformed policeman guarding his door informed him.

“Foul play?” He turned around in a circle. “Can I at least set my bag in the door?”

He arrived at the station and asked to see Chief Inspector Burton. Burton was in with Superintendent Huggins but on hearing Terry Thorne was out front they both came out into the hall and invited him in.

“I don’t have a twin and right now I don’t have a flat. What happened in there?”

Chief Inspector Burton looked at him closely…yes, there was the scar on his right brow. “Mrs. Bell has been in and given her statement. She says she cleaned your flat on Monday. Yesterday during course of our inquiries we happened upon your building. She was kind enough to show us to your door which we found unlocked. She came in with us and found the flat in some disorder. There were towels in the bathroom floor and one had blood on it. Naturally, until we can discover whose blood it is, we’re not allowing anyone else in.”

Terry was quiet for a moment. “The blood is not mine. You think I had a squatter?”

“Don’t know yet. Obviously someone has been living in your flat this week.”

“Mrs. Bell let him in thinking it was you. We believe it may be the missing banker, Max Skinner.”

“How he ended up there is not certain but Sgt. Crews believes it may have been the mailman that handed him a package with your address. He was picked up out on a country road and dropped off a few blocks from where you live.”

“Not saying you are. He may have been mistaken for you by the mailman. We’re trying to get in touch with him now. These things take some time.”

“What I don’t understand is why he hasn’t come forward. If he’s mobile…walking around and living in my flat, he’s able to report what happened to him. Why was he pretending to be me?”

“No answers yet, Mr. Thorne.” Burton told him about the abduction and that Skinner had been left for dead in a ravine.

There was a knock on the door. “Sir, we’ve got the tailor. He’s identified the suit as one he made for Mr. Skinner.”

“Well, that confirms the squatter. We found a tailor-made suit in the bedroom. It had been wet and muddy.”

“So we got Max Skinner walking around in my clothes? You think he could be on the run from somebody…maybe the kidnappers?”

“From what we’ve got from his friend who reported him missing, Max Skinner had just been offered a partnership in the bank where he worked. He sold an inherited vineyard in Provence. He’s quite a wealthy man. It’s hard to believe he’d be on the run from a kid and his mates.”

“When I was in Paris I happened to meet a woman who knows him, somebody who had some sort of relationship with Max in Provence. My opinion is she’s still in love with him. He hasn’t contacted her since he returned last Friday. I don’t know, sounds like he’s had a lot on his mind lately, maybe under some pressure. He may have seen this as an opportunity to just drop out for awhile…try to get it all together again. I’ve been there.”

“Yes, but we can’t rule out the fact that something else may have happened to him. He took a bath in your tub this morning and he’s disappeared.”

Terry studied the pictures and shook his head. “You know, the woman, Fanny was her name, said everybody has a double and damn if this isn’t mine. How old is he?”

“I guess that’s me in six years.“ He handed the pictures back. “I’d like to talk to Victor Sklovensky. A few years ago I had a job in Serbia. My contact was his father. As a result of my actions in pulling a switch with the ransom money he was killed. I understand he wanted to avenge his father. I feel a responsibility for the kidnapping and for Max Skinner.”

He dreamed he was drowning and came to, gasping for air and fighting the sheet that covered him.

Max blinked a few times and looked down. He was attached to some kind of machine and he reached up trying to dislodge the thing in his nose.

“Now, now, that’s oxygen. You’re on oxygen and a drip. You’re all right, Mr. Thorne. You’re in hospital.”

Were they talking to him? He looked in the bed next to him and it was empty. “What…what happened to me?”

But his jumbled thoughts were already fitting together. He reached up to the back of his head.

“You’ve got a few stitches back there. Are you in pain?” The nurse asked him.

The doctor stood at the foot of his bed, reading off his diagnosis. “Two hairline fractures to the skull, a touch of pneumonia, dehydration, a cracked rib...."

“Yes, maybe. I was knocked in the head in the back of Carlisle’s. I woke up in a garage tied to a chair. I was wet. I think they poured water on me.”

“I don’t know who they were. They kept insisting I was somebody named Thorne and every time I denied it I got punched. There was a large chap with a big fist. I remember him hitting me and the chair tipped back. After that I don’t remember…except I was in water.”

“I mean that’s not me. My name is Max Skinner. I don’t know anyone named Thorne.”

“You were admitted to hospital under the name of Terry Thorne and there is a policeman outside the door. You were brought over here from the jail.”

“It’s true. I’m not familiar with the charges against you only that it wasn’t a violent crime.”

Max was becoming agitated and the doctor ordered a sedative. He informed the policeman that his patient said he was Max Skinner and not Terry Thorne.

Chief Inspector Burton was looking over a report handed to him when he arrived at his office. Max Skinner’s wallet had been found in a dustbin near the garage where he’d suffered a beating. No cash, of course, but everything else was intact. His phone was found in the garage smashed to bits. They’d also rounded up the fifth member of the gang. It turned out to be the same ham-fisted bloke he’d spoken to at the pub.

He tossed the report on his desk and sighed. Parts of the puzzle were falling into place…all but one. Where was Max Skinner?

Sgt. Crewes came into his office and excitedly began telling him something about a man in the hospital.

Crewes smiled, noting he had a cup of coffee and had probably just arrived. “There is a man in hospital who claims to be Max Skinner…and he was admitted as Terry Thorne. This is the clincher; we’ve had him in custody since yesterday at 2:00.”

Sgt. Crewes filled him in on the bank and the check he’d tried to cash. With his mouth in a thin line, Burton drove to the hospital. “Why weren’t we informed he’d been arrested?”

“Well, that’s just it. He wasn’t exactly. Since his identity was in question he was put in the tank until inquires could be made. Meantime, he passed out and was transported to the hospital. He insisted he was Thorne when he was brought in to the station but he couldn’t produce any ID.”

“And now he says he’s Max Skinner? Could be some nutter that picked it up from TV.”

Max opened his eyes to see a man and a woman standing by his bed. Were they part of his nightmare?

“I’m Chief Inspector Burton and this is Sgt. Crewes of the Metro Police Department. Could you give us your name, please?”

“Maximillian Skinner. My doctor informs me I came from jail. I find this highly unlikely.” He closed his eyes again.

Burton grinned. He sure looked like Thorne but the accent and voice were different. “As a matter of fact, you did arrive here from jail. Tried passing a check belonging to Terry Thorne at his bank. The manager became suspicious and called in the police.”

“I don’t believe that is so. I am a banker, Chief Inspector, and I am getting awfully tired of hearing about Terry Thorne. I have no idea who he is. I’d like to know what’s being done about the thugs that had a go at me?”

“They’re in jail. At least five of them are. Can you shed some light on that?”

“Five, that’s all I was aware of. They abducted me from the back of a restaurant.”

“Yes, we know. In fact we know all about the abduction and where you were left for dead. There are four days unaccounted for. What can you tell us about your time?”

“We should have the results from the lab on the blood type?” Burton turned to Crewes.

“Your chart here says you’re type O. So I’m going to give you a little scenario. Your ordeal began on the night of the 24^th. The next day about 9:30 in the morning a decorator was on his way into the city. It was pouring rain and he sees a bloke walking along the road and offers him a lift. He lets him off and he walks about three blocks and runs into a mailman who mistakes him for Terry Thorne. He hands him a box with Mr. Thorne’s address. He’s only a door or two away so he enters the building, soaking wet and dripping all over Mrs. Bell’s just mopped hallway. She mistakes him for Terry Thorne and lets him into his flat because he’s forgotten his key and his umbrella.

“He’s not seen for three days until he enters the bank with Terry Thorne’s check book. He declares himself to be Terry Thorne though he cannot produce any identification. He writes a check and tries to cash it but…he spells his name wrong. Thorne is spelled with an E. He ends up in jail suspected of forgery and theft, still insisting he’s Terry Thorne. We know you were in the flat because your discarded suit was found there. We traced it to your tailor, who identified it.”

“Sorry, it’s a nice little scenario but I don’t remember any of it. I can’t imagine I would try and cash a check belonging to someone else.”

“Perhaps you weren’t in your right mind. Dr. Porter says you’ve suffered a head injury.”

Max closed his eyes and sighed. “I have a head injury and it’s beginning to pound.”

“Do you know anyone who can vouch for your identity? Charlie Willis, perhaps?”

“Charlie, yes, I know Charlie Willis. He’s a real estate mogul. Mogul fits him. He talked me into selling something I shouldn’t have.”

“Let’s get him over here, Crewes. He’s the one that reported you missing.”

“Did he really? Ha…four days. Oh, my God, I’ve missed Sir Nigel’s meeting!” He covered his eyes with a hand. “Oh well, bugger it.”

Charlie arrived thirty minutes later with Gemma. Gemma had some affection for Max. As aggravating as he was and with the asshole factor weighed in she still cared about him. He looked pale and not himself.

Charlie was all smiles seeing his friend alive. “Max, you’ve surfaced and with police protection.”

“Hello, Charlie. They’re not here to protect me; they’re here to arrest me. They say I tried to forge a check.”

“You’re kidding. Where is your solicitor? You haven’t been talking to them, have you?”

“Nice, I’ve been bashed about, had my head broken and now I’m unemployed.”

“Speaking of Provence, I have the check for the sale and my commission check waiting for you to make a deposit.”

“That’s right, you are. No need to make any decisions today. You need rest and recoup time.”

“I think that bump on your head has affected your good sense. We are talking about a lot of money here.” He was dead serious.

“Leave him alone. He’s right. He is sick and injured. I’m glad you’re found, Max.”

“Thanks, Gemma. I seem to have lost my glasses somewhere. Do you think you could get me another pair?”

“I’m not your personal assistant any more, Max. Like you, I’m unemployed. However, I will see what I can do for you.”

Max grimaced, “Sorry, Gemma.”

Terry had to spend the night in a hotel and he wasn’t happy about that. He’d called Dino once he was settled in his room.

“I wish I knew, Dino. The theory is this banker has been staying in my flat. Why he was there is still a mystery. I can’t get in because they found blood on one of my towels, presumably his.”

“I don’t know. No body was discovered in there. I had a talk with Victor Sklovensky and explained my mission and what the outcome was. I don’t know if that made a difference to him. He still thinks his father was a hero and I was responsible. Anyway I gave him food for thought. I just didn’t want him coming after me when he gets out of prison. He’s sorry about Skinner but if it had been me then I don’t think there would have been any remorse.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m going to hang around until this Skinner chap is found. I’d like to meet him.”

“What do you want to do about the Cayman trip? Want me to go ahead with it?”

“I am convinced he doesn’t remember being Terry Thorne. I spoke with his doctor and a loss of memory is not uncommon with head injuries like he’s sustained.”

“But twice? He doesn’t remember being Thorne and when he was Thorne I suppose he didn’t remember being Skinner.”

“Could be. Those four days may come back to him in time. He has his solicitor over there now so I didn’t see any reason to hang around. Is the bank manager going to go ahead with charges?”

“I spoke to him earlier and he says it’s now up to Mr. Thorne.” Superintendent Huggins picked up his tepid tea and looked into the cup.

“Thorne. I suppose we can let him go home now. Have you heard from him today?”

“Oh, yes, he called right after you left this morning, making demands in that direction. I’ve sent someone over to take down the tape. He may be there now. His little visit with our kidnapper might have produced some results. He now wants to cooperate fully. He has a solicitor…paid for by Mr. Thorne.”

“Thorne’s an okay bloke. I’ve spent some time talking with him on the phone. He’s got a kid, did you know?”

“No, we haven’t talked personal lives. Well, Burton, it’s only the details now to be tidied up. Well done. Good work by Crewes, too.”

“If there’s nothing else, sir, there’s a pint waiting for me.”

Aside from Max’s mess, forensics had been through and dusted everything for fingerprints. He pulled out his phone and called Mrs. Bell. It was her day off but he thought extra pay would bring her in and he was right.

Max wanted to sleep but a steady stream of people in and out all day, doctors, police, inspectors, friends and his solicitor had made that impossible. There was someone at his bedside changing bags, taking his temperature, etc. until he was exhausted and wanted them to all go away. He wanted to go home so he could rest but that was impossible. He’d inhaled some dirty water into his lungs, his head was broken…

Max didn’t even open his eyes. “What is it now? You’ve just changed the drip.”

Max opened an eye and then two. “Who the bollocks are you?” His eyes widened as he focused on the man by his bed.

“So I’ve been told by a beautiful young woman in Paris. I met your Fanny and had dinner with her.”

“You did what? You’re off shagging my girl and I’m here taking your beatings!” he said with some emotion.

“Ah, now, I did not shag her. In fact she spent most of the evening talking about you. Besides,” he pulled up a visitor’s chair, “you’ve been having a party in my flat while I was gone.”

“Oh, it will come to you. I’m having to pay my cleaning lady for an extra day because of the mess you left behind. You don’t remember being there at all?”

“Everything is foggy. My whole head is in a fog. I don’t remember but if I made a pigsty I’m very sorry and I’ll stand your cleaning lady. I’ve been told what may have happened but I have little memory of it. I don’t like your friends.”

“They aren’t my friends, Max. I’m sorry you took the bullet for me. I’d like to explain it if I may.”

Terry went on to explain why Max was taken. “It was simply a case of mistaken identity.”

“It’s not so simple. Did they tell you I can’t walk straight, sometimes I have double vision, nausea and headaches you would not believe.”

“You’ll heal. You’ll have to take it easy for about six months. I feel responsible for you. What can I do?”

“You can drop the charges against me. If I did take a checkbook from your house it was because I was delusional thinking I was you. I wasn’t in my right mind for about four days.”

“So I’ve heard. Don’t worry about the checks. No harm done there. I’ve learned a good deal about you over the week. You’re a high-powered investment banker.”

“Was…WAS. I’ve been let go. I made the bank a large amount of money in a short time and I got suspended for a week for my efforts. During that week I went to Provence to check out my inheritance. I had a vineyard and a chateau.”

“No, I wouldn’t say she was angry. She’s disappointed that you sold up and left town.”

Max ran a hand over his face. “A mistake…I know it now. When I got back I was offered a partnership for life or a nice severance package. I never got to say because I was kidnapped but I was going to turn the partnership down and take the money. I intended to go back to Provence.”

“I have 30 days, well about 20 now I guess, to pull out of the contract. My realtor is not going to like it. He stands to lose a nice commission. I may be sued over the contract…it’s all too much right now.”

“I was going to have a few days there and then slide on to the Caymans. Oh, by the way, don’t ever put your business card in a fishbowl.”

“I did at Carlisle’s. That’s how the punk got my company e-mail. You see your picture was sent to my company saying I’d been kidnapped. I happened to call my partner in Miami and that’s when we discovered there was someone out there that looked like me. He sent it to the police here. I was advised not to come back until…well…”

“Yeah,” Terry grinned, “anyhow I’m glad you’re alive if not well. I should go and let you get some rest.”

“Here? You’ve got to be kidding. I should be out of here in a few days. Once the fever is knocked out I’ll be able to leave and go home.”

“Home…well, you might think of flying to Provence for a little R&R. I’ll bet there’s a lady over there who’d be very happy to see you and nurse you back to health.”

“In fact when you get ready to travel, let me know and I’ll go with you…just to see you get there okay. I’ll stay in touch with you.” Terry pulled out a business card. “You can reach me here.”

“I’ve lost my phone but when I get a new one, I’ll call. Thanks for coming by. It was nice to meet you.”

Max carefully lay back on the pillow. So that was Terry Thorne…nice enough chap. He closed his eyes. Thorne…he shouldn’t keep all his money in the Caymans…