The Hitch Hiker by Tim Vicary. Part 3.
Watch on KineScope.
Next morning, I found the reports of the car accident on my desk. There were photographs of the two cars after the crash, and a plan of the area. The two cars had been drawn on the plan. The police had also spoken to two students. They had been walking beside the road at the time of the accident. The students had both seen the first car swerve suddenly in front of the second car and then stop, for no reason.
But the police hadn’t spoken to the drivers of the two cars because they were too ill. So I had to go to the hospital to talk to them. PC Brian Jones came with me. The doctors said we couldn’t talk to the driver of the second car or the little girl, so we went to see the driver of the first car.
He was sitting up in bed. He could talk now, but he had hurt his neck quite badly because the car had stopped very quickly. But it seemed that he didn’t want to say much.
‘Good morning, Mr Jackson,’ I said. ‘I’m a police sergeant. The doctor tells me you’re feeling much better this morning.’
‘A bit,’ he said. ‘But I still can’t move my neck. If you want to talk to me, sit on the end of the bed, and then I can see you.’
I sat on the end of the bed and looked at him. He was about thirty years old, with a thin, brown face, a small moustache, and dark hair. He looked very unhappy, and his eyes always looked away from me when he spoke.
‘I suppose you want to know about the accident?’ he asked.
‘That’s right, Mr Jackson. Can you remember anything about it?’
‘Remember it? Yes, of course I can. I’ve been thinking about it all night. But it wasn’t my fault, honestly. You must believe me! I was driving along quite slowly – about forty-five miles an hour, I think, or maybe fifty, but no more, really. Anyway, there’s no special speed limit on that road, is there?’
‘Only the limit for normal roads. You can go up to sixty miles an hour.’
‘Well, I wasn’t driving as fast as that. I was driving quite slowly, the road was clear, and I hadn’t been drinking. In fact, I never drink and drive, never – I’m sure the doctors tested that, didn’t they, Officer?’
I looked at my notes. ‘Yes, I think so. It doesn’t say anything here about alcohol, Mr Jackson.’
‘So it couldn’t be my fault, could it? I mean, I was going at a normal speed, slowly even, on a sunny day, and I hadn’t been drinking, and then there he was! Right in front of me!’
I felt confused. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Jackson, I don’t understand. Who was in front of you?’
He stared at me strangely. ‘Well, the man, of course. The man who was killed.’
Now I was really confused. ‘What? I’m sorry, Mr Jackson, but no one was killed. The people in the other car were hurt, but they’re both alive. One has a broken leg, I think, and the little girl hurt her face, but that’s all.’
‘Which car?’ asked Mr Jackson.
‘The car that hit you from behind.’
Now Mr Jackson looked confused. He looked even more unhappy, and his face went white, as white as the bandage round his neck.
‘Do you mean… are you telling me that a car hit me from behind, Officer?’
‘Yes.’
He put his hands to his neck. He had been trying to shake his head but he couldn’t.
‘I don’t remember that,’ he said.
‘You don’t remember anything about a car that hit you from behind?’
‘No, nothing. And you say there were two people in it? A man and a girl? Oh, how terrible.’ He began to cry, and took a handkerchief from the table beside his bed.
I thought carefully. ‘Let’s start from the beginning, Mr Jackson. You say you were driving along slowly, about forty-five miles an hour. Is that right? Then what happened? Think carefully, and tell me slowly.’
He put the handkerchief down, and stared at me, his eyes big and wide.
‘Well, then I saw him, that’s all. A man. He was running across the road in front of me. He didn’t look where he was going, or anything. He was just – there – suddenly. I tried to stop, but it was too late. Poor man – I couldn’t miss him!’
I waited until he had finished. The nurse gave him a drink of water. Then I asked, quietly:
‘Mr Jackson, do you remember anything about this man? I mean, what did he look like?’
He looked at me strangely. ‘Well, I didn’t have much time, did I? I suppose he was about forty or fifty years old, in a suit or something, I don’t know. His face was very white – I suppose that was because he was frightened. I think he had glasses on, and there was something red – perhaps it was a tie, or maybe it was the blood, I don’t know. But why does it matter? You’ve got the body, haven’t you? You know who he is.’
I looked at PC Jones. This man’s crazy,’ I thought. ‘Perhaps he has hurt his head, too.’ I felt sorry for him.
I spoke very slowly and carefully. I tried to make my voice as kind as I could.
‘Mr Jackson, we haven’t found a body. No one was killed in the accident. You didn’t hit anyone. You just stopped your car suddenly, and the car behind ran into you, that’s all.’
‘But… does that mean you’re going to prosecute me?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure yet, Mr Jackson,’ I said. ‘We haven’t finished our investigations. But I’m afraid the police usually prosecute people for dangerous driving if they stop suddenly for no reason.’
‘But you can’t do that! I’d lose my job! I’m a salesman. I drive hundreds of miles every week, and nobody can work for our company if they have been prosecuted for dangerous driving. That’s why I never drink and drive – never! And I never stop without a good reason! There was a man there, in front of me – I told you! I saw him as clearly as I can see you now!’
‘Well, I’m sorry, Mr Jackson,’ I said. ‘But there was a serious accident, and at the moment it seems it was your fault. That’s all I can say for now.’