Who was she?

‘She sat opposite me, on the other side of the aisle. I thought I recognized her but I didn’t know from where.’

‘Did she recognize you?,’ the policeman said. His colleague had gone out of the room.

‘I think she did, but – like me – she couldn’t place me.’

‘And then what?’

‘Then nothing. I read my book.’

‘Did you notice at what station she got off the train?’ The policeofficer looked at me straight, without an expression on his face. As he had done since the conversation started. When I shook my head, he continued. ‘She got off at Platform A4. This we know. She was found on the side of the tracks, two hours later, with a pair of scissors down her throat and dead. Do you know anything about that?’

I shook my head again.

‘And you still don’t know where you knew her from?’

I shook my head.

The policeman sighed. Then his colleague came in and gave him an affirmative nod. They looked at me. The man who had questioned me, started talking again. ‘It turns out the DNA test was affirmative. Pieces of your hair were found on the victim’s body.’

I slapped my knee. ‘That explains it. Of course! I remember now. She was my hairdresser.’ I was glad we got the mystery explained.

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