Free Déjà Vu: A Technothriller by Ian Hocking

computer failed to recognise my voice following my discovery of the secretary. That fits: that was my first conscious moment after the memory implant. The computer suggested that my voiceprint had been altered by a malicious user. That user was me. My former self. But this is all indirect. The conclusive evidence is the computer’s analysis of the blade. It reflected the face of the murderer. Here she is. It is me.”
    Saskia walked around her desk. She had walked further this weekend than she could ever remember. But what, actually, could she remember? “What did you do to me, Jobanique? Who are you?” She picked up Simon’s picture from the floor. “Who is this man?”
    “He is nobody. You’ve never met him.”
    A shadow fell across her. “But I remember him.”
    “So what? I remember Elvis Presley. Down to business. You only have a minute left.”
    Saskia sagged. Her world was vanishing, piece by piece, and her mind with it. So what. Why not dance off the edge of the stage? “So. The question must be why. Why did I do it? Perhaps I was hypnotized. Post-hypnotic suggestion would explain both the murder and the false memories. But a moral human being will not commit murder even under hypnosis.”
    Jobanique shook his head. “Allow me. Until last week, you were in jail.”
    Saskia blinked. She fought with her mind, tried to remember anything. She could not. She had no childhood, no teenage years, no friends...did she even have an apartment? She realised, then, that she did know where it was. Presumably it did not exist. That explained her urge to remain in the office all weekend.
    “My brain has been wiped.”
    “Yes,” said Jobanique. “On Friday morning I visited you in custody. You were being held in a woman’s prison in Bonn following a fast-track trial. Your murder was thorough and meticulous. It is one of the more unusual aspects of the female criminal. Your premeditation made it very hard for your lawyer. But it makes you very attractive to me. Have you ever heard the expression –” he switched to English – “‘set a thief to catch a thief’?”
    She didn’t understand. “What’s that in German?”
    “Einen Dieb aussenden, um einen Dieb zu fangen.”
    “Explain what you mean.”
    “Over the past few years I have recruited members into my organisation who were, shall we say, semi-retired versions of their prey. That is, detectives with a unique –”
    “Criminal.”
    “Perspective on crime. We have had some problems, of course. ‘Wet’ incidents. In the past six months, however, a particularly interesting liberalisation of the punishment of murder has emerged. It involves a systematic removal of the muderer’s memories and personality. A true ‘brain-wash’. The murderer is rehabilitated. Everybody is happy.”
    “What about the families of the victims?”
    Jobanique laughed. “For their own sakes, they are seldom informed. In fact there have only been six of these ‘brain wipes’. Two of them are in your office.”
    “My secretary, Mary. And me. What did she do?”
    “She played her part, nothing more. We can consider her rehabilitated.”
    “So I was lucky.”
    “Your crimes were more spectacular.” His smile broadened. “You were given the task to solve a murder and you have succeeded. Well done.”
    Saskia frowned. She could no longer look into the face of this man. She was...had been...a murderer. Unbelievable. She did not feel like a murderer. But what did murderers feel like? Did they feel evil? Surely she was evil. What crimes had she committed? Why were they spectacular?
    “What happens now?”
    There was a knock at the door. “Your time is up, Saskia Brandt. It is 9:00 a.m.. With this day your new life begins or it ends. Open the door.”
    She did so. Outside was a woman in a fashionable blue suit. She had both hands behind her back. She was wearing a purple fedora a la Saskia. Their eyes met like gladiators. The woman brought out her hands: in the left was a