Part 12 (1/2)

'What in G.o.d's name did they ask that for? It's crazy. It's not possible.'

'Said they were doing a project on exploitation of coloured folk in the South for the school they go to back in Britain and they had to fill in a questionnaire,' Maybelle said.

'And what did you tell them, for Chrissake?'

'I'd rather not say, Sheriff. Nothing more than the truth.'

The Sheriff shuddered. If the truth was anything like what he'd heard at a thousand decibels up near the lake, Wally Immelmann would have to get the h.e.l.l out of Wilma but fast. Either that or be lucky to die in the Coronary Unit.

Chapter 30.

Two days later Wilt was sitting in a chair explaining what it felt like not to know who he was to a doctor who seemed to find Wilt's symptoms quite common and of rather less interest than Wilt himself.

'And you really don't know who you are? Are you quite sure about that?' the psychiatrist asked for the fifth time. 'Are you absolutely certain?'

Wilt considered the question very carefully. It wasn't so much the question as the way it was put that concerned him. It had a familiar tone to it. In his years of teaching confirmed and convincing liars he had used that tone himself too often not to recognise what it meant. Wilt changed his tactics.

'Do you know who you are?' he asked.

'As a matter of fact, I do. My name is Dr Dedge.'

'That's not what I meant,' said Wilt. 'That is your ident.i.ty. But do you know who you are?'

Dr Dedge regarded him with a new interest. Patients who distinguished between personal ident.i.ty and who they were came into a rather different category from his usual ones. On the other hand, the fact that Wilt's notes mentioned 'Police inquiries following head injuries' still inclined him to believe he was feigning amnesia. Dr Dedge took up the challenge.

'When you say 'who you are' what exactly do you mean? 'Who' surely implies personal ident.i.ty, doesn't it?'

'No,' said Wilt. 'I know perfectly well that I am Henry Wilt of 45 Oakhurst Avenue. That is my ident.i.ty and my address. What I want to know is who Henry Wilt is.'

'You don't know who Henry Wilt is?'

'Of course I don't, any more than I know how I came to be in the ward.'

'It says here that you suffered head injuries'

'I know that,' Wilt interrupted. 'I've got bandages round my head. Not that that is proof positive but even the most overworked NHS doctor would hardly make the mistake of treating my head when I'd broken my ankle. At least I don't suppose so. Of course anything is possible these days. On the other hand, who I am is still a mystery to me. Are you sure you really know who you are, Dr Dredger?'

The psychiatrist smiled professionally. 'My name happens to be Dedge, not Dredger.'

'Well, mine is Wilt and I still don't know who I am.'

Dr Dedge decided to go back to the safer ground of clinical questions. 'Do you remember what you were doing when this neurological insult occurred?' he asked.

'Not offhand I don't,' said Wilt, after a moment's hesitation. 'When would that be, this neurological insult?'

'When you suffered the head injuries.'

'Bit more of an insult being beaten over the head, I'd have thought. Still, if that's what you call it...'

'That is the technical term for what occurred to you, Mr Wilt. Now do you know what you were doing just before the incident?'

Wilt pretended to think about the question. Not that it needed much thinking about. He had no idea. 'No,' he said finally.

'No? Nothing at all?'

Wilt shook his head carefully. 'Well, I can remember watching the news and thinking how wrong it was to stop Meals on Wheel to those old people in Burling just to save on the Council Tax. Then Evathat's my wifecame in and said supper was ready. I can't remember much after that. Oh, and I washed the car some time and the cat had to go to the vet again. I can't remember much after that.'

The psychiatrist made a number of notes and nodded encouragingly. 'Any little thing will be of help, Henry,' he said. 'Take your time.'

Wilt did. He needed to find out how far back his memory would have been affected by a neurological insult. He'd nearly fallen into a trap when he'd said he didn't know his own name. Clearly that didn't fit the pattern. Not knowing who he was, on the other hand, still had some mileage to it. Wilt tried again.

'I remember...no, you wouldn't be interested in that.'

'Let me be the one who decides that, Henry. You just tell me what you remember.'

'I can't, Doctor, I mean...well...I just can't,' he said, adopting the s.h.i.+fty whine he had heard so often in the Disadvantaged Single s.e.x Seminars he had been forced to attend as part of Ms Lashskirt's Gender Affirmation Awareness Programme. Wilt was using that whine to his own advantage now.

In front of him Dr Dedge softened noticeably. He felt safer with that whine. It smacked of dependence. 'I'm interested in anything you have to say,' he said.

Wilt doubted it. What Dr Dedge was interested in was finding out if he was shamming. 'Well, it's just that I'm sitting in this room and suddenly I feel like I don't know why I'm here or who I am. It doesn't make sense. Sounds so silly, doesn't it?'

'No, not at all. This is a not uncommon occurrence. Does this sensation last long?'

'I don't know, Doctor. I can't remember. I just know I have it and it doesn't make any sense.'

'And have you discussed it with your wife?' Dr Dedge asked.

'Well, no. Can't say I have,' said Wilt sheepishly. 'I mean, she's got enough on her plate without me not knowing who I am. What with the quads and all.'

'Mrs Wilt...? Are you telling me you have quadruplets?' asked the psychiatrist.

Wilt gave a sickly smile. 'Yes, Doctor, four of them. All girls. And even the cat's neutered. Got no tail either. So I just sit there and try to think who I am.'

By the time Wilt went back to the ward, Dr Dedge had no doubt that he was a deeply disturbed man. As he explained to Dr Soltander, the neurological insult had resulted in the emergence of partial amnesia as a complicating factor to a preexisting depressive condition. And a bed had become available in an isolation room because the previous patient, a youth on a drug charge, had hanged himself. Dr Soltander was glad to hear it. He had had enough of Wilt and more importantly he had had far more than enough of Mrs Wilt who had been besieging his ward and disturbing the terminally ill patients. 'Best place for him and those b.l.o.o.d.y policemen.'

'He's in Psychiatry, is he? Well, I can't say I'm surprised,' Inspector Flint said when he found Wilt was no longer in Geriatrics 3 next day. 'If you ask me, he should have been certified years ago when he stuffed that inflatable doll down the hole. All the same, I don't think he's half as sick as he's making out. I think he's holding something back. I didn't like the way he was acting when I was there.'

'In what way, sir?' Sergeant Yates asked.