The Wrong Mr Right (Sequel to ‘The Late Mr Early’)

Inspector Kelly sat down on the young man’s couch; unfolded a notebook and took a small

sharpened pencil from his pocket.

 

“Is your name Matthew Right?”, he asked

“Yes, that’s right, I mean, my name is Right” said the man, nervously, taking a seat opposite him in a faded leather armchair, “Have I done something wrong, officer?”.

“Detective Inspector”, said Kelly correcting him but smiling warmly, “No you’ve done nothing wrong, young man, not knowingly at least, I don’t think. No I wanted to ask you some questions about a person; someone that you know or knew briefly”.

“Someone I knew?”, asked the man, bewildered.

“A young woman who I know you first met around January of this year, who came completely out of the blue, who you knew nothing about but whom you started having a relationship with which only ended about a fortnight ago”, said the Inspector, “A woman named Dora Dunstable”.

The young man seemed to wince at the sound of the name and the inspector could tell that he had unearthed some unhappy memory.

“Yes I knew her or at least I think I did”, said the man, “Encountered her might be more accurate. She never really let me get to know her. In fact, she almost seems more like a dream I’ve had than a real person”.

“How did you first meet Dora Dunstable?”, asked the inspector.

“She turned up at my door, like you said, out of the blue. She said she was looking for a friend of hers, someone else called Matthew Right and she thought I might be him”, said the man.

“Then what did she do?”, asked Kelly, scratching in his notebook with the pencil, “When she found out that you weren’t the man she’d been looking for”.

“Well that’s the funny thing”, said the man remembering, “I was about to close the door when she asked if she could come in and rest. She said she had come all the way from London by train and she was tired”.

“And you let her come in and sit down?”, asked the inspector, surprised, “A complete stranger? Why?”.

The young man looked ashamed, “Well”, he coughed, “To be honest, I thought she was very

attractive and, I don’t know, I suppose, I really wanted her to come in”.

 

“And then what happened?”, asked the inspector, seeming a bit, to the young man, like a

psychiatrist now as he took notes.

 

“Umm..well”, he said, “That’s another odd thing. Then she started to become very friendly, asking questions about me as if she wanted to get to know me. I asked her if she would like a cup of tea and she asked me if I had anything else to drink. I asked her if she would prefer coffee but she told me that she meant an alcoholic drink and I said I had some whisky in a cupboard, then I poured some into a small glass and gave it to her. Then, I remember, she asked me if I would have a drink with her”.

“Didn’t you think it all a bit peculiar?”, said the detective, “A strange woman turning up at your house, asking to come in and then wanting to have a drink, an alcoholic drink, with you”.

“Yes”, said the man, “I know it sounds peculiar but…I don’t know how to put this…please would you mind very much not writing down what I’m going to tell you…it feels quite personal”.

“Alright”, said the inspector, putting down his pencil and pad on the arm of the couch.

“It seemed to me like a dream come true”, said the man with exhilaration in his voice as if he was opening up and unburdening himself of something, “I’m not the sort of man who attractive women are usually interested in, so to have a very attractive woman want to come into my house and have a drink with me, well, it was like all my prayers had just been answered”.

“And you weren’t worried at all or suspicious about this strange woman or who she was?”, asked the inspector, finding it hard to believe.

“I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth”, said the man, “I mean how often does that kind of thing happen to someone who looks like me?”.

“I see”, said the inspector, starting to write again in his notebook, “And then what happened?”.

“Well, then she just wanted to talk more and drink more and then, before I knew it, we'd spent the whole evening together”, said the man.

“How long did she stay with you, that day?”, asked Kelly.

“She stayed overnight, well, she was too drunk to go home, all the way to London at night and she had nowhere else to stay. I made up a bed for her on that couch, the one you’re sitting on and that’s where she slept, at first”, said the man.

“At first?”, asked the inspector.

“Well…erm…in the middle of the night she came into my bedroom and woke me up, then she got into bed with me”, said the man, slightly embarrassed.

“I see”, said Kelly, scribbling, “And in all the time you and this woman were together. You were never curious about her? Who she was?”.

“Yes, of course”, said the man, “But she didn’t like me to ask her questions. If ever I asked her questions she would just say, “Please don’t spoil things” and I didn’t want her to leave me, so I did as she said. Then, I remember, I asked if I could go up to London to visit her and she told me she was married”.

 

“Married?”, asked the inspector.

 

“Yes”, said the man, “She said I could never go up to visit her in London because she had a husband and she wouldn’t give me her address or phone number for fear that I might try and contact her”.

 

“And that didn’t bother you?”, asked the inspector.

 

“No”, said the man, “I would have done anything for our relationship to continue… even when she made me change my hair and clothes, I didn’t mind much”.

 

“She made you change your appearance?”, asked Kelly, becoming interested and writing more down.

 

“She said she liked me but she didn’t like the clothes I wore or my hair”, said the man, “So she made me buy an entirely new wardrobe; have my hair dyed red and cut short. I thought perhaps she was making me look like her husband and I asked her, “Is this how your husband looks?” but she didn’t want to talk about it and I didn’t want to upset her”.

 

The inspector closed his notebook and placed it, along with his pencil, back in his raincoat pocket.

 

“Well, sir”, said the inspector, “After hearing what you’ve told me. I think I’ve asked you enough questions for now but I also think that you might be upset by what I have to tell you”.

 

“Is it about her husband?”, asked the man, worriedly, “He hasn’t done anything to her? Has he?”.

 

“Oh no”, said Kelly, smirking and shaking his head,“Miss Dunstable doesn’t have a husband. She has a boyfriend; a man who’s name, like yours, happens to be Matthew Right”.

 

“What?”, asked the man, now totally nonplussed.

 

“His name is Matthew Right”, repeated the inspector, “But though he has the same name as you, he looks very different, he has short red hair for one thing”.

 

The man still looked mystified.

 

“And he hasn’t done anything to her.. quite the reverse in fact. We suspect him of killing his uncle and her of being his accomplice”, said the inspector.

 

“Well, what has that to do with me?”, asked the man, becoming annoyed.

 

“We suspect that Miss Dunstable was using you to forge an alibi for her boyfriend”, said the inspector sighing, “On the night when the murder of her boyfriend’s uncle was committed she claims that he was with her and, as well as her statements, we have several eyewitness statements that she was with a man called Matthew Right whose description is very similar to our murder suspect; same short red hair; same taste in clothes ”.

 

“I see”, said the man, sadly, dazed, “So she was just using me”.

 

“I’m sorry sir”, said the inspector, sounding sincere.

 

“I was in love with her”, said the man, “I thought she was in love with me. She called me her Mr Right”.

 

“I’m sorry”, said the inspector again, “But it appears you were just the wrong Mr Right”