Della pulled more to the right. The offside wheels banged and jumped along the grass verge. I saw her struggling frantically with the wheel, trying to keep the car straight. The driver of the approaching car just didn't seem to see us. I heard Paul yell. The car was on us now. It side-swiped us as it went past. Della screamed. There came a crunching, ripping noise. The car that had hit us slewed across the road, then crashed into the thickets. I grabbed hold of the dashboard as I felt the Bentley lift. The windshield suddenly turned into a spider's web of cracks and lines. There was a grinding noise of splintering wood, then a hell of a jolt, and a scorching white light burst before my eyes. Above the grinding, tearing sounds, I heard Della scream again, then the white light snuffed out and darkness came down on me.
PART TWO
FOG PATCH
I
THE smell of iodoform and ether told me I was in hospital. I made an effort and rolled back eyelids that weighed a ton. A tall, thin guy in a white coat was standing over me. Behind him could see a fat nurse. There was a bored, harassed expression on her face.
"How do you feel?" the thin guy asked, leaning over me. "Do you feel better?"
He seemed so anxious I hadn't the heart to tell him I felt like hell. I screwed up a grin and closed my eyes.
Lights flickered behind my eyelids. I felt myself swimming off into misty darkness. I let myself go. Why bother? I thought, you can only die once.
The darkness crept down on me. Time stood still. I slipped off the edge of the world into mists, fog and silence.
It seemed to me I was down in the darkness for a very lone time, but after a while lights began to flicker again and I became aware of the bed in which I was lying and the tightness of the sheets. A little later I became aware of the screens. There were tail white screens around the bed, and they worried me. I seemed to remember they only put screens around a bed when the patient was going to croak.
I also became aware that a thick-set man was sitting beside me. His hat rested on the back of his head, and he chewed a tooth pick, a bored, tired expression on his fleshy, unshaven face. He had copper written all over him.
After a while he noticed my eyes were open, and he shifted forward to peer at me.
"I wouldn't win a dime with a double-headed coin," he said in disgust. "Talk about luck! So you have to come to the surface just when I'm signing off."
A nurse appeared from behind the screen. She also peered at me: not the fat nurse. This one was blonde and pretty.
"Hello," I said, and my voice sounded miles away.
"You mustn't talk," she said severely. "Just lie still and try to sleep."
"Sleep — hell!" the copper said. "He's gotta talk. Keep out of this, nurse. He wants to talk, don't you, pal?"
"Hello, copper," I said, and closed my eyes. When I opened them again the thin guy in
white was standing over me.
"How am I doing, doc?" I asked.
"You're doing fine," he told me. "You're a miracle."
I blinked him into focus. He was young and eager and interested. I liked him.
"Where am I?" I asked, and tried to lift my head, but it was too heavy.
"You've had an accident. Just take it easy. You're coming along fine."
The copper appeared from behind him.
"Can I talk to him?" he asked, an exasperated note in his voice. "Just one or two questions. That can't hurt him."
"Make it short," the doctor said. "He has a bad concussion."
He stood aside and the copper took his place. He had a notebook in his hand and an inch of blunt pencil in his thick fingers.
"What's your name, pal?" he asked. "Don't bear down on it. We just want to get things straightened out."
"John Farrar," I told him.
"Address?"
"I haven't one."
"You gotta sleep somewhere, haven't you?"
"I was hitch-hiking."
He blew out his fat cheeks and looked up at the ceiling as if he were praying.
"Well, okay, you were hitch-hiking. Got a father or a mother or a wife or someone?"
"No."
He turned and looked at the doctor.
"Now do you believe I never have any luck? Of all the guys who get snarled up in a car smash I have to pick me an orphan."
"You'd better cut this short," the doctor said, his fingers on my pulse. "He's not fit to talk yet."
"Wait a minute; wait a minute," the copper said, licking his pencil. "I've got to get this straightened out." He turned to me again. "Okay, pal. So there's no one to claim you. Well, how about the dame you was with? Who was she?"
A picture of her floated into my mind with her jet-black hair, her hungry look and the shape she had on her.
"I don't know. 'Call me Della if you must call me something That's what she said.' She didn't tell me her other name."
The copper groaned.
"How is she?" I went on. "Is she badly hurt?"
"She's all right," the doctor said. "Don't worry about her."
"And her husband?" I asked.
"What husband?" the copper said, staring at me.
"The guy who was sitting at the back of the car. She said his name was Paul. Is he all right?"
"You don't have to worry about him, either," the doctor said
The copper passed his hand over his face and shook his head. He seemed to be the one who was worrying.
"How did it happen? Maybe you can tell me that," he said but there was no hope in his voice.
I couldn't be bothered to explain about Petelli. That would have taken too long. I wanted to close my eyes and forget about the car smash.
"Another car was coming towards us," I said. "He was coming fast. He didn't seem to see us. She tried to get out of his way, but he caught us. What happened to him?"
The copper drew in a deep breath.
"I'll say it this time," he said, with heavy sarcasm. "You don't have to worry about him. Now look, pal, let's get all this down the mat and work at it. If you were hitch-hiking how come you were driving this Buick?"
It was my turn to stare at him now.
"It was a Bentley, and she was driving. I was sitting at her side, and her husband, Paul, was at the back."
"Well, smother my old father in a feather bed!" the copper exclaimed. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Then he put his hat on again and pulled aggressively at the brim. "Y
ou were drivi
ng!
She was
at the back! And there was no goddamn husband." He leaned forward and wagged his finger at me as he bawled, "And the sonofabitch of car was a Buick!"
I got excited.
"You've got it wrong!" I said, clutching hold of the sheet. I tell you she was driving. The car was a black Bentley coupe. This other car hit us. Ask the driver. He'll tell you."
The copper waved his note-book in my face.
"There was no other car! What's the matter with you? What have you got to lie about?"
"That's enough," the doctor said, his voice sharp. "He's nor in a fit state to be shouted at. You must leave him alone, sergeant."
"I'm not lying!" I said, and tried to sit up. That finished me. A light exploded inside my head, and I took a nose-dive into darkness.
It was daylight when I opened my eyes again. The screen at the foot of the bed had been removed, but the screens on either side were still there. I could see another bed facing me. From the sounds going on around me I guessed I was in a ward.
I looked to see if the copper was there, but he wasn't. I lay still, aware I was feeling a lot better, that my head didn't ache, although it was still sore, and when I moved my arms I could do so without effort.
After a while I got around to thinking about what that copper had said. It began to worry me. No other car, no husband, it was a Buick and not a Bentley, and I was driving. What did he mean ?
Maybe I had dreamed the copper. Maybe he was part of the mists and the fog and the darkness. He must be unless he was confusing me with someone else.
Then the doctor came around from behind the screen. He grinned cheerfully at me.
"You don't have to tell me you're better," he said. "I can see that for myself."
"I'm fine," I said. "How long have I been here?"
He glanced at my papers at the foot of the bed.
"You were admitted at eleven-thirty on the night of September 6th. Today is September 12th. So you've been here six days."
"September?"
"That's right."
"You mean July, don't you? It can't be September. We hit that car on July 29th: the night I fought the Miami Kid."
"I don't know about that. You were admitted on September 6th."
"That can't be right. I couldn't have remained unconscious for snore than a month before I was found."
The doctor smiled.
"Of course you couldn't. As a matter of fact you were found almost at once. A speed-cop heard the crash, although he didn't see it happen. He arrived on the scene five minutes after the smash. You were brought here an hour later."
I licked my lips. My mouth had suddenly gone dry.
"You wouldn't be fooling about the date, doc?"
He shook his head.
"No. I wouldn't be fooling about the date." He sat on the edge of the bed. "Now, you mustn't worry about this. It'll work out all right. At the moment you're showing typical signs of concussion. You've had a severe head injury. You're lucky to be alive. For some time you must expect to be confused. Dates, details of who was in the car and who wasn't, even your past may not make sense, but they will sort themselves out in a little while. At the moment you are convinced the car crash happened on July 29th. You'll find it impossible to believe it happened on September 6th, but don't let that worry you. In a week or so your memory will function normally again. And another thing, don't let the police rattle you. I've explained the position to them, and they understand. They want you to help them if you can, bur they know now that if you make mistakes you're not doing it intentionally. All you have to do is to take it easy and rest all you can. It's just a matter of time."
He was a nice guy, and he was doing his best for me, and I was grateful, but that didn't stop me worrying. I knew I had fought the Kid on July 29th, and the crash had happened on the same night. Nothing he could say would alter that fact.
"I don't want to argue about it, doc," I said, "but do me a favour, will you?"
"Certainly. What is it?"
"Della - the girl I was with. She's here, too, isn't she? Ask her. She'll tell you it was July 29th. Ask her husband. He'll tell you the same thing."
The cheerful, bedside manner slipped a little.
"Now, here is a case in point," he said. "This business about a husband. You must expect it, you know. Only she and you were found in the car. There was no husband."
My heart began to pound.
"Well, all right, there was no husband," I said, trying to control the shake in my voice. "Then ask her. She'll tell you. You're not going to say she wasn't there, are you? Go and ask her!"
He ran his hand over his sleek, dark hair. The smile had gone for good.
"A couple of days ago you weren't well enough to be told," he said gently. "I can tell you now. She broke her back. She was dead when they found you."
II
In the afternoon Police Lieutenant Bill Riskin came to see me. If the nurse hadn't told me he was a police lieutenant I wouldn't have believed it. He was a little guy, around fifty, with a sad, wrinkled face and bright little eyes that peered at me through a pair of horn spectacles. He carried his hat in his hand, and he walked on tiptoe, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and gentle. By this time I was as jumpy as a nervous horse. I was ready to go into a flat spin at the drop of a hat. Maybe that's why they picked Riskin. If they had unleashed that fat sergeant on me again I'd have flipped my lid.
He pulled up a chair beside me and crossed his short legs. I saw he was wearing boots and white socks, and his ankles were as thin as match-sticks.
"Well, boy, how's the head?" he asked.
I said the head was fine. I was clutching on to the sheet, and sweating, suspicious of him, suspicious of everyone. At the back of my mind I was beginning to wonder if they weren't going to tell me I was crazy.
"Doc said you were upset," he went on. "You've got nothing to be upset about. You're not the first fella who had a crack on his head and has got confused. You want to take it easy, and let us boys do the worrying. All we want to do is to get this straightened out. The girl died. If someone hit you, they didn't stop, and that makes it a hit-and-run job. It's our business to find the fella and teach him not to do it again. We'll find him more quickly if you can help us. You want us to find him, don't you?"
That sounded reasonable enough, but he wasn't kidding me. I'd seen that guy's car turn over and smash into a tree before I had blacked out. If they had found me five minutes after the crash, as the doctor had said, they would have found him, too.
I said I wanted them to find him,
Riskin nodded and peered at me.
"Is it right you were hitch-hiking?"
"Yeah."
"And the girl let you drive the car?"
I didn't say anything. I couldn't understand why they were so anxious for me to admit driving the car, unless they wanted to pin Della's death on me. I began to get the jumps again.
He repeated his question in his mild voice, and even gave me an encouraging smile.
"I was not driving!" I exclaimed, raising my voice. "She was driving. I was sitting at her side, and her husband was sitting at the back! How many more times do I have to tell you guys?"
I expected him to start yelling at me, but he didn't. He just nodded his head and looked a little sadder.