Twenty-six
Matthew, standing at the open door, shook his head. Laughed a little. To the stranger before him, he said, ‘Are you for real? Adam Harrow’s dead!’ He gripped the door-handle once more. ‘Next time you want to impersonate a bloke, try choosing one who’s alive.’
‘So you’re saying you don’t recognise me, Weissler.’
How could the stranger possibly know him by name? Matthew opened his mouth to ask this joker what he was up to and closed it again.
The smile. The shape of the features. The height. Couldn’t be.
Wasn’t.
No. Harrow was dead. What was wrong with this guy? Why would anyone impersonate a jerk like Harrow?
‘Look, Weissler, I understand your reaction, but I’m not impersonating anyone. Why would anyone impersonate a jerk like me?’ The visitor smiled wryly. ‘I’m not a fake
