Zero Recall

By Braam Morton

Imagine what it would be like if every single fragment of your memory is erased and all you know is that someone is trying to kill you.
When Jason Harper wakes up in hospital, he has no knowledge of who or what he is and, more importantly, who had tried to kill him and caused the bloodbath at his house. It seems that a bullet fragment lodged in the brain does that to you.
He has been informed of his name and that he is a psychiatrist by a disturbingly attractive detective sitting by his bedside. He assumes that he must have had patients, but knowledge of family and friends, colleagues, his past and his future is a total blank. He has nothing other than grim determination to help him piece together the puzzle that is his former life.
A suspenseful, frightening road of unravelling his past and the people populating it, enfolds with many unsuspecting twists and turns. Some information comes as a shock and it is only when he delves into the darker side of his past that he is able to make some sense of the present.
Harper will be profoundly tested on his ability to stay alive as well as his mental capacity to emotionally deal with his past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398467835

Braam Morton

Braam Morton has always excelled in writing, be it boring policy documents or motivational speaking scripts, etc. His love for writing was aided by his completion of a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology and Languages, an Honours degree in Industrial Psychology and a Bachelor of Commerce degree in Economics. Military service as a paratrooper finally instilled discipline in him, contrary to his mother’s belief that such an event would be near impossible. He lives with his wife and children in New Zealand, where he enjoys a successful career in Human Resource Management. His work, and life enjoyed to the full, allows him to work in, and extensively travel to, many countries around the world. He feels that there are still many stories he has to tell.

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About the Author

Braam Morton has always excelled in writing, be it boring policy documents or motivational speaking scripts, etc. His love for writing was aided by his completion of a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology and Languages, an Honours degree in Industrial Psychology and a Bachelor of Commerce degree in Economics.

Military service as a paratrooper finally instilled discipline in him, contrary to his mother’s belief that such an event would be near impossible.

He lives with his wife and children in New Zealand, where he enjoys a successful career in Human Resource Management. His work, and life enjoyed to the full, allows him to work in, and extensively travel to, many countries around the world.

He feels that there are still many stories he has to tell.

Copyright Information ©

Braam Morton 2022

The right of Braam Morton to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398467828 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398467835 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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Prologue

Much secrecy surrounds the accommodation of ministers from the various countries attending one of the bi-annual OPEC meetings in Vienna, mostly to avoid the ‘Oil Paparazzi’ following them and trying to get inside information on decisions being made. On checking into room 1066 of his hotel at 6 pm, the Turkish Minister felt dissatisfied with the lighting in the room and requested to be moved to another room. The clerk at reception smartly moved the Turkish Minister to room 1254 that would have been occupied by a journalist and his wife and daughter who had advised that they would be arriving late and placed the journalist and his family in the room vacated by the Turkish Minister. He was congratulated by his manager for his quick and efficient handling of the issue. The journalist duly checked in at 10 pm.

At exactly 12 pm, the bomb exploded in room 1066. What the planter of the bomb did not know, and therefore could not have taken into account, was that during construction of the hotel, inferior quality steel had been used for framing and cheap, experimental grade concrete had been used for walls and flooring. The blast ripped apart the three occupants in the room and caused significant structural damage to all the floors above. Some walls and ceilings collapsed, killing ten more delegates and injuring sixteen others. Panic and confusion spread through the hotel and absolute chaos reigned as everyone tried to evacuate simultaneously. The lift shafts were damaged beyond repair and panic-stricken occupants jammed the stairways, each trying desperately to get out before more explosions took place. People pushed others aside and those that stumbled and fell were simply trampled upon as those behind stampeded to safety. Police and emergency services sirens competed with each other outside in the streets surrounding the hotel. It would be many hours before all the occupants were evacuated and the dead and injured transported to hospital.

The world press had a field day with images and video footage of the carnage. Photographs of the mutilated bodies of the bomb victims in room 1066 were leaked to the media and were continuously plastered across television screens and front pages of newspapers around the world.

Condemnation of the bombing was universal and no organisation accepted responsibility for it. Vienna Police vowed to leave no stone unturned in finding those responsible and many countries and law enforcement agencies from other countries offered to assist in this quest.

Three months later, the police still had no leads and had made absolutely no progress on the investigation at all.

Chapter 1

Erin O’Connor was feeling she needed many things in her life. A new boyfriend, time off, warmer weather, a Lotto win and more respect from her partner, Detective Alfred Riley. Riley resented her promotion to Sergeant (he had repeatedly failed his Sergeant’s exam), her above average good looks (he was a rather unattractive individual with a pock marked face that resembled the surface of the moon), her ability to spot clues and solve crimes (he relied heavily on her to maintain their success record) and her popularity among her peers (he was constantly the butt of jokes on low intelligence around the squad room). Things O’Connor did NOT need was another cold snap, more snow, the broken air conditioner and more cases. It was bitterly cold outside, and they had entered their third day without proper heating at the station. Many budget cuts over the years have seen the building become rather dilapidated. Even the office furniture and most appliances were old and desperately needed replacement. Everyone knew the station was due for an upgrade, but a date for said upgrade has not been set.

A final addition to her woes came when her boss, Captain Howard Morgan, poked his head out the door of his office beckoning her and Riley to come over. Howard Morgan had only two reasons for calling someone to his office. One is to lambast you for screwing up and the other is to dish out new cases.

O’Connor walked to the Captain’s office warily, unsure which way it was going to go. She was unaware of having done anything wrong but knew that the same could seldom be said of her dimwit partner whom she was responsible for. So, what have you messed up this time, Hoove? she asked. Riley was known for not leaving scraps of food behind. When there was cake or biscuits in the coffee room, he would go to great lengths to mop up any leftovers and even the smallest crumbs would not escape his attention. He was given the nickname Hoover, which most of his colleagues shortened to Hoove.

Riley was quick to respond. Nothing, he probably only wants to stare at your cleavage again.

O’Connor blushed and gave him the finger. It was an open secret around the office that Captain Howard Morgan had a soft spot for her. She always wore, without exception, a black two-piece pant suit with a white blouse. Her only attempt at femininity was unbuttoning her blouse to show various amounts of cleavage, depending on who she was dealing with. In the squad room, her blouse was invariably buttoned to the top, but she knew that an unbuttoned blouse had a mellowing effect on her boss. The Captain pointed his finger at a chair, which they assumed meant that they had to sit down. O’Connor did so, feeling a little more relaxed. He never asked anyone to sit down before giving them a tongue lashing.

Morgan looked at her without speaking, basically ignoring Riley, who preferred it that way. He never got tired of looking at Erin O’Connor, whom he regards as the most attractive woman he knows. He’d always wondered what she would look like with some makeup on, but she never wore any, and it was generally accepted by all who know her that she does not own any form of cosmetics. She also never wore any jewellery. Bangles, necklaces and rings annoyed her because they always seemed to somehow get in the way. When she was worried, like she was now, she would bite the side of her bottom lip and Morgan found this habit impossibly cute. He always maintains, what he fondly imagines to be, a professional attitude towards her and believes O’Connor would never know what her Captain thought of her. He tried to keep his admiration hidden behind a brusque and often rude facade.

Morgan loved his wife more than anything and would never cheat on her. He would remain faithful for two reasons. One was because he loved her and the other was his fear of his wife’s rage when he messes up. He knew that, should he dare to stray, his wife would do things to him that would make Lorena Bobbitt seem like a version of Mother Theresa.

We have a new case, he said bluntly before carrying on. "No, you have a new case. He waited, but when they did not respond, he continued, It’s a real doozy. A well-known psychiatrist has been shot in his office, at home, during broad daylight and people in the neighbourhood are up in arms about it. When the two detectives merely nodded their heads, he threw in what he thought would knock them off their chairs. Guess who the next-door neighbour is?" he grated.

When O’Connor professed to not being able to speculate about the identity of the next-door neighbour at this time, Morgan smiled in satisfaction and thundered, The District Commander!

O’Connor’s face clouded over. Damn, she thought. The pressure that would be brought to bear on whoever investigated this case to get quick results would be near unmanageable. Lack of such quick results could also easily turn into a career ending fiasco.

Why us? she asked. We are already overloaded, and there are guys out there twiddling their thumbs!

Morgan shrugged. You are the best I’ve got and on this one and, trust me, no one else here can be trusted to solve this at warp speed. He paused to let it sink in and then continued, I will move some of your cases to Watson and his partner.

She appreciated the recognition of her abilities but still tried desperately, albeit unsuccessfully, to come up with a reason to ditch this case. Her shoulders slumped and worry was written all over her face. She bit her lip, clearly showing the stress she felt creeping up on her.

The Captain saw her despondent reaction and tried to encourage her. There is some good news. The victim did not die and is being treated at John Hopkins. He saw her face brighten up and decided not to further mention that the good doctor was in a coma and was not expected to wake up anytime soon due to the severity of his injuries.

O’Connor was heartened by this news, and there was practically a spring in her step as she and Riley left the Captain’s office. This may, after all, not be the disaster she anticipated.

The first step would be to visit the crime scene. She grabbed Riley and discussed a plan of action along the way. Riley may be a few neurons short of a synapse, but even he could see that this case was one that could make or break them. He remained deep in thought as they drove. He too was considering some options that would allow him to extricate himself from this investigation. In the end, he gave up and instead envisioned himself receiving praise and promotion on successfully solving the case. He knew that such an outcome would solely depend on Erin weaving her magic and finding leads they could pursue.

The crime scene was a hive of activity when they arrived. Crime scene technicians dressed in protective gear were all over the place. A patrolman allowed them entry past the crime scene tape.

Arriving in the psychiatrist’s consulting room, they were met by an absolute bloodbath. The desk, walls and carpet were all covered in blood. Chairs were overturned and most ornaments and side tables were smashed and covered in blood.

O’Connor recognised the CSI team leader and walked over. Hi, Gary, have you got anything so far? she asked hopefully.

Gary Jarvis was a surly, cantankerous old man who did not have a friendly bone in his body. Nobody currently associated with law enforcement in the United State of America can recall a single instance where Gary Jarvis had ever cracked a smile.

He did not even look at her when he snapped, A lot of blood.

Had anyone else made this statement, it would have been regarded as a joke or sarcasm. Not so when it was Gary Jarvis. He had no time for superfluous or jocular statements. O’Connor waited for him to continue and when he did not, she asked, Meaning what?

He swung his arm and pointed around the room at the biggest pools of blood. Too much blood for one victim, especially if he is still alive as reported. I’d say there has been at least two victims, maybe even three.

O’Connor’s heart sank. Really? Could this not, just for once, have been a single uncomplicated shooting by a jealous girlfriend? She looked around the room and realised there was nothing to be done here while the CSI techs were swarming all over the room. You’ll let me know when you’re done, won’t you? she said and immediately regretted asking such an asinine question.

Jarvis frowned. No, he said sarcastically. I am going to sit on it for a week and then send my report over to a girl scout group in Alaska if that’s okay with you. With that, he turned away and ignored her embarrassment. As O’Connor and Riley retreated from the office, Jarvis made a last comment, More blood in the kitchen. Mind your step.

Frustrated at not being able to examine the scene in peace, O’Connor beckoned at Riley. Go back to the station and see what you can dig up about this guy, she said staring at the nameplate on the office door. There was a plaque with the name ‘Dr J. Harper’ emblazoned on it in bright gold lettering. I want to know everything about him, his family, friends and colleagues. See if you can find out what domestic staff he had in his employ. Better talk to the neighbours, but DON’T go anywhere near the Commissioner’s house.

Okay, he replied. What are you going to do?

I going over to the hospital for a chat with the lucky Doctor Harper. Here’s hoping he can provide what we need to wrap this up, she replied.

O’Connor mulled various possible scenarios over in her head.

A dissatisfied patient with a mental disturbance, shooting Harper over some perceived injustice? No, that does not explain the extra blood. The same problem exists when considering most other possible perpetrators. A jealous girlfriend, girlfriend’s husband, common thief or dissatisfied employee. Big question, who did the other blood belong to and where is he or she?

Is Doctor Harper in danger? Would whoever shot him, come back to finish the job if he/she found out that Harper was still alive?

She put a call through to Captain Howard Morgan, asking him to place a uniformed cop at the door to the victim’s room. If they allowed the shooter to finish the job on their watch, there would be hell to pay. Morgan agreed wholeheartedly and promised to send someone right away. When O’Connor arrived at the hospital and asked to see Jason Harper, she received a quizzical look from the nurse in charge. You do know that he is in a coma, don’t you? she asked. Her words were like a kick in the gut, and O’Conner felt the bottom drop out of her world. She could, at that moment, easily have emptied her gun into Howard Morgan’s lying mouth.

The nurse allowed her into Harper’s room. He lay there with a tube protruding from his mouth, bandages all around his head and a drip running into his arm. He was connected to some devices doing heaven knows what. He was shot through the head, the nurse said laconically as if this was something that happened all the time. Rather lucky to be alive, I’d say.

What are the chances of him waking up anytime soon? O’Connor wanted to know.

The nurse shrugged. Who knows with head wounds? she said. He could wake in five minutes, an hour, a day, a month or never. There is just no way to tell. The good news is that all his vital signs are good.

O’Connor’s frustration knew no bounds. She stood there staring at Jason Harper. From what she could see, he seemed to be reasonably attractive with a strong jawline. A five o’clock shadow covered most of his face giving it an even stronger look. He looked tall and well-built and had clearly been looking after himself. O’Connor remembered seeing a fully equipped gym behind the office in his house.

Well, let’s hope your fitness helps you pull through this quickly, she said softly. He looked so defenceless and fragile, and she felt desperately sorry for him. She would never know why but for some reason she leaned forward and softly kissed him on the cheek. She jerked her head back in shock as his eyes fluttered open. He looked at her with eyes that seemed unable to focus. He tried half-heartedly to sit up but fell backward and his eyes closed again.

O’Connor pressed the nurse call button repeatedly and touched his cheek with her hand. This time however there was no response. She did not know whether to feel excited about him opening his eyes or disappointed at him for slipping back into the coma. The nurse came charging in, and O’Connor told her about the momentary awakening. That’s rather good news for you and him, she said. It should not be too long before he wakes up again. O’Connor did not miss the lack of conviction her voice carried. She decided to hang around a little longer in case he woke up again.

As she sat there staring at him, she, occasionally tentatively, reached out and touched his cheek or his hand but did not get any response. After an hour, she gave up and left, leaving her card with the nurse to call her if he should wake up. She was pleased to see a uniformed patrolman sitting outside the door of the room. After a few words of encouragement to the patrolman (he was facing a long, boring stint), she drove back to the station.

At the station, she studiously ignored the Captain and sat down with Riley to see what he had learned thus far, which was not much. He reported that the doctor had a housekeeper who came in every day. Her name was Angela Sullivan and had worked for the doctor for all of ten years. Nobody knew whether Angela had come to work on the day of the shooting. She was not at her residence. A message has been left for her, but she has thus far not made contact. There was also a gardener who only comes in on Fridays and would therefore not have been there on the day of the shooting, which had been on a Wednesday. Jason Harper’s mother had passed away several years before, and his father has been admitted to a dementia ward at the Lakeside clinic. According to staff at the clinic, Harper had last been to see his father on the previous Sunday. He has a brother who lived in Southport, Virginia, where Harper grew up. Apparently, they do not get along and have not had any contact since their mother’s funeral. Nobody knew who his friends are, or even if he had any. The one neighbour they interviewed did not have any idea whether Harper had a girlfriend or not. None of the other residents on the street had anything to report. One old geezer walking his dog thinks he saw a dark-coloured SUV parked outside the doctor’s property.

The patient who indicated that he was scheduled for an appointment at 12 pm turned up to find the doctor lying in a pool of blood and promptly called 911. He did not see anyone leave the property or anything suspicious. He was in a state of shock, and O’Connor made a note to re-interview him at a later stage.

O’Conner sighed. There was really nothing else to do but wait for the CSI report and for Jason Harper to re-enter the world of consciousness. She wondered how this was going to end.

She was awakened from her reverie by the dulcet tones of a shouting Howard Morgan calling her to his office.

To say that the Captain was unimpressed with the lack of credible leads generated thus far, would have been a great understatement. He launched into a long-winded speech of how important the case was and how perilous the position of all involved, him included, was. He kept pointing out that should the investigation turn pear-shaped, she and no one else would carry the blame.

O’Connor was in no mood to silently suffer Morgan’s ranting. What exactly, Captain, is it you’re suggesting I do what I haven’t done thus far? she asked.

Morgan did not in fact have any suggestions, but he was not about to let it go. Don’t expect me to do your job for you. Get out there and do what you are being paid for!

O’Connor backed off. She had never seen him like this before. She suspected that the District Commander was breathing down Morgan’s neck in a big way.

His ranting was interrupted by her phone. It was the Charge Nurse at John Hopkins. Jason Harper had regained consciousness.

Chapter 2

O’Connor was feeling a lot better. Finally, something was going right for a change. She was nearly sprinting by the time she came down the ward to Harper’s room.

The patrolman was still dutifully guarding the door. She entered the room and was pleased to see the doctor sitting upright in his bed.

He smiled when he saw her. Well then, it’s Princess Charming herself. Have you come to kiss me awake again? he asked laughingly.

She flushed bright red. Damn, he knows I kissed him, she thought. Sorry about that. I don’t know why I did that and please know that it will never happen again, she mumbled.

He smiled again. Well, I’m sorry to hear that.

She did not respond to