They Thought I Was Dead: Sandy’s Story

89 June 2017

Through my lawyers, I hired a private detective — he’s called Jack Roberts. I like him, he’s a smart guy, based in Kingston. He’s found out a lot about Roy for me and pretty quickly. Every Thursday the Argus has a property page, something I’ve never really bothered to look at since I’ve been away. Jack sent me a screenshot of a page from this week’s. I scan it quickly — amazing how values have shot up since Roy and I bought our house. Then I see it.

Our house. Our home.

For sale.

WTF?

Why was he selling?

After a burst of unexpected resentment and questions in my head, I started to think more calmly. I realized there may be a silver lining here that I could take advantage of. I’d contact the estate agents and arrange a viewing. I was sure I could find something to nab — a comb or a toothbrush, something like that.

Then I had an even better idea, which was the one that Dr Eberstark really, really did not like. But I’ve discussed it with my German lawyer, in Frankfurt, to whom Stoker introduced me. It’s perfectly possible, and I have the cash.

My plan was that, under one of my false names, I buy the house. My longer-term plan was maybe a bit far-fetched, but you have to have dreams, right? This dream was helping me get my focus on. Maybe Roy and I will live there again one day.