Trick of the Mind by Cassandra Chan

question, although “Not well at all” sprang to his mind. It hardly seemed an appropriate response.
    “All right, sir,” he replied, or tried to; his newly awakened throat did not cooperate and what came out was a garbled sound. Carmichael’s
cheerful smile was at once replaced by a worried frown, and he leaned forward anxiously while Gibbons cleared his throat around the tube and tried again.
    “I’m all right,” he managed, though it did not sound very convincing even to his own ears.
    “Good, good,” said Carmichael, recapturing his smile, though it did not look very heartfelt. “I’m really sorry I didn’t get round to see you yesterday, but I got a late start on the day and never seemed to catch up.”
    “Oh.” Gibbons was trying to think, without much success. He knew he had wanted badly to see Carmichael, yet now he was faced with him, he could not seem to remember why. A memory stirred out of the depths of his drugged brain. “They told me you’d been here last night.”
    “I did just stop by,” said Carmichael. “But you were already asleep.” He paused. “Did you have a good night?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.
    In fact, Gibbons had not, having woken or been woken at several points, either by pain or the nursing staff, but again the truth did not seem very appropriate.
    “Good enough,” he said.
    “Getting your rest is important,” Carmichael told him.
    “Yes, sir.”
    An awkward pause ensued in which Carmichael tried to think of something cheerful to say and Gibbons yawned and rubbed his eyes.
    They were saved from the lengthening silence by the arrival of Gibbons’s parents, looking fresh and well rested. They, too, wore falsely bright smiles to hide the small, anxious lines between their brows, but they seemed genuinely pleased to see Carmichael again.
    Gibbons closed his eyes while they greeted each other and tried to take stock of himself. What he most needed, he decided, was a bedpan and to sit up a bit. He felt stiff and achy, and very muzzy-headed indeed.
    His mother seemed to divine at least one of these needs, detaching herself from the two men to come and ask if he would like the bed put up a little.

    Gibbons nodded gratefully. “Yes, please,” he said.
    “Have you remembered anything more to help the chief inspector?” asked his mother, pressing the bedside controls.
    “I’ve only just woken up,” protested Gibbons.
    A thought occurred to Carmichael. “Do you know,” he said, “I’ve never had the chance to ask you if you could think of any reason you might have gone to Walworth. Bethancourt said he didn’t know of any friends of yours who lived there, but we never asked you.”
    “I don’t think I know anyone there,” said Gibbons. “Perhaps a casual acquaintance, but no one I regularly visit.”
    “Well, there’s Dawn,” said his mother brightly. “She’s in Walworth.”
    Carmichael stared at her. “Who’s Dawn?” he asked.
    “My cousin,” supplied Gibbons. “Dawn Melton.”
    “She’s my sister-in-law’s daughter,” explained Mrs. Gibbons. “She got divorced recently and wanted to make a new start. She found a quite good job here in London last September, and I asked Jack to keep an eye on her. It was a nice opportunity for her, but she’s never lived in a big city before, and we thought it might be difficult for her just at first.”
    “I helped her sort out the kids’ schools,” said Gibbons, but with a guilty air that made Carmichael think Dawn had not been much in the forefront of his mind. “And I’ve taken her to lunch once or twice.”
    “She said you’d been a great help,” said Mrs. Gibbons, smiling fondly at him.
    “Well?” asked Carmichael. “What about it, lad? Could you have gone to visit her on Tuesday night?”
    “I might have,” said Gibbons doubtfully. “I mean, I didn’t have any prior plans to, but if she rang me, I would have stopped by.”
    “It’s easy enough to find out,” said