Mr. Nobody(70)
Bloody hell. They make it sound like I’m pretending to be a doctor.
“News sources yesterday uncovered that Marni Beaufort is currently the lead specialist on another case garnering public interest—the mysterious case of Mr. Nobody, the unknown man found wandering on a beach in Norfolk, close to Dr. Lewis’s own childhood home. Although currently not under investigation, Marni Beaufort was believed by many during the 2005 inquest into Charles Beaufort’s misappropriation of funds and subsequent death to be involved in a cover-up surrounding his suicide. Several sources at the time of the investigation expressed concerns that the body discovered in the Beaufort family home might not have been that of Charles Beaufort and that Charles Beaufort might well still be at large. However, DNA samples analyzed at the scene and during the subsequent police investigation did match with that of Mr. Beaufort.”
I feel Chris’s eyes on me. I feel his concern.
I can almost hear his thoughts. Do I think he’s still alive too? That’s what he wants to know. That’s what everyone wants to know.
Two questions, over and over. Do I think he’s still alive? And, where is the money?
I avoid Chris’s gaze and focus on the images as they flash up on the screen. Footage from 2005. Shots of sixteen-year-old me cowed by the attention, my terrified expression as alert as a wounded animal’s. Shots of the July 7 bombings, interviews with victims about the money he stole.
I flip the channel.
A floppy-haired man in a navy blazer holds forth. “Yes, that’s all very well, Susannah, but what if Charles Beaufort is still alive and out there somewhere, living off all this stolen money he’s accrued? I just think with today’s technology it’s worth looking at the evidence again. What harm could it do? If he’s dead, he’s dead. All I’m saying is, I think it might be worth the police reopening the case. There were contradictory facts! The daughter saw him leaving the house. That was in her original statement. It was only afterward the story changed. I definitely think it’s worth another look.”
The female presenter gives him an incredulous yet indulgent look. “But come on, Jeremy, didn’t he attempt to murder the whole family? Why would any one of them be helping him get away with that? They’d have to be mad.”
“Actually, not really—if you think about it, it makes perfect sense. The carbon monoxide levels in the house were high but nowhere near fatal yet. It may have been part of the ruse. Get the family in on it. If he’d really wanted to kill them all, he could have increased the flow, and he had a gun, didn’t he—”
Jesus Christ.
I flip the channel.
This is going to be worse than last time. Now that I’m over eighteen, all bets are off. I’m fair game.
They think I know where he is. They think I helped him. They think I’m protecting a man who stole from grieving families and tried to kill me and my whole family. But do I think he’s alive?
No. Yes.
The real truth? I don’t know. Because I saw him go. And I know they told me it was a hallucination, I know the DNA test results, I know the evidence. I know and yet…the body in the study wasn’t wearing his jacket. It didn’t feel like him. It just didn’t. And I don’t know where he is, or where the money is, and I don’t know the whys of any of it, but—do I think he’s alive? Yes. I think of Matthew in his hospital room, and I can’t help but wonder if locked away inside him is some kind of answer. After all, he was looking for me.
On the next TV station one of the bombing survivors speaks to the camera: “Who exactly paid for this woman’s medical training? That’s what I’d like to know. Isn’t it a bit convenient that all that money disappeared and she shows up fourteen years later a doctor? We should be asking where the money for that came from. Why haven’t the police followed up on that?”
Chris, who has come up behind me unnoticed, gently takes the remote from my tight grip and turns off the blaring screen. I realize I haven’t blinked for a while, and it feels strange to do so now. He pulls me in close to him and I let him. It feels so good to be held.
“Call your family,” he whispers gently. “Let them know you’re okay.”
I call Joe, it’s a brief conversation. His voice is tight and it’s blindingly obvious that I should have followed his advice on Friday, although he does me the extraordinary kindness of not bringing that up. He’s going straight to Mum’s, he tells me. She’s seen the news. Apparently, there are already people outside her house. I feel awful. The guilt is almost too much to bear. And even though it feels ridiculous to be giving my brother advice, I feel obligated to give him the same warning Peter gave me. “Don’t talk to anyone, Joe, don’t answer the phone unless you know who it is first.”
I want to call Mum but I can’t. The guilt is too sharp. I don’t think I’d be able to hold it together. And I definitely don’t want her to feel she needs to reassure me. God, I don’t think I could handle her being brave for me. I text her that I love her and I’m sorry and I leave it at that.
At 8 A.M. Peter calls.
“Listen, Emma, we’re happy to accept your resignation. If you’re not up to continuing, we completely understand. The press attention is fairly unprecedented, and given the circumstances, if you’d rather take some time for yourself, to be with your family…”