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then ring you back. Give me that phone number.’
    ‘Hang on a mo.’ Andrews hailed a passing nurse. ‘Does this phone accept incoming calls?’
    The nurse nodded. It was ten minutes later when Binns phoned back. ‘The Land Rover’s registered to Winfield Estate, which doesn’t get us a lot further. I’ve rung the estate office but got no reply. I’ll keep trying.’
    ‘The hospital needs to know his details. Also his car’s stuck out on a country lane and I’ve got the keys.’
    ‘I’ll get back to you as soon as I have anything.’
    The A and E department had changed shift before the information came through. Andrews put the phone down and smiled apologetically at a nurse waiting to speak to her.
    ‘Are you with the patient who had the chainsaw accident?’
    ‘Yes, how is he?’
    ‘He’s recovered consciousness, but he’s very weak. He lost a lot of blood and had to have a transfusion, so he’ll be kept in for a few days. He’s been moved on to a ward.’
    ‘Can I speak to him?’
    ‘As long as you keep it short. Have you found out who he is?’
    ‘I’ve just got the details.’
    His eyes were closed as she approached the bed. She thought the nurse had been over optimistic in assessing his condition. His wounds had been bandaged, the dressings revealing the full extent of the injuries. He looked pale and ill. Far worse than when she’d found him. ‘Mr Myers,’ she said softly. His eyelids flickered but didn’t open. ‘Mr Myers.’ She repeated his name, this time a little louder. The second time he opened his eyes. He stared at her without recognition. ‘Mr Myers, can you remember what happened?’
    At first she thought he was too heavily sedated to take in her question, but after a few moments he gave a minute shake of his head.
    ‘You had an accident with a chainsaw.’ She spoke slowly and clearly as if to a small child. ‘I had to bring you in.’
    He frowned slightly, whether from pain or what she was telling him, she couldn’t be sure. Then she heard him whisper, ‘Sorry.’
    ‘We need to get your Land Rover off the road. Is there anyone at your home to drive it?’
    Another fractional head-shake.
    ‘You live alone?’
    There was no answer for a moment. Then after moistening his lips he whispered, ‘Barry,’ he paused for a second to allow a sudden bout of pain to pass before adding, ‘Barry Dickinson.’ His voice was so weak she’d to strain to hear him.
    ‘OK, I got that,’ she told him. ‘Can you tell me where he lives?’
    ‘Cottage, Winfield Estate.’ It was by no means a long sentence but he was gasping by the end of it.
    She heard a voice behind her. ‘OK, I think that’s enough’ – a doctor was standing by the end of the bed – ‘unless you want to undo all your good work. Sorry and all that’ – he gestured towards the door – ‘but he needs rest and quiet.’ He gently but firmly ushered her away and out of the ward.
    The following morning she was back at the hospital before 8.15. She was anxious to interview her mystery patient, but first she had to get past the ward sister. ‘I’m glad you’ve turned up,’ the sister informed her as she paused at the reception counter. ‘You’ve saved me a phone call. I need to check the information you gave us.’
    ‘Why?’ Andrews asked.
    ‘According to the details you gave his name is Andrew Myers, his address is Woodbine Cottage and his date of birth is the first of February 1971.’
    ‘That sounds right,’ Andrews agreed. ‘We got it from his employers, Winfield Estate.’
    ‘Well I think someone’s been feeding you bad information. According to our computer Mr Andrew Myers with that address and that date of birth doesn’t exist.’
    ‘I don’t understand.’ Andrews stared at her blankly.
    ‘Our computer can trace anyone who’s been allocated an NHS number, providing we know their name and date of birth. No NHS number has been issued to an Andrew Myers born on that date.’
    Lisa frowned.