"Shut up!"

'The truth hurts doesn't it?"

"Get out of here!"

"If I do, guess where I'll go next?"

"Where?"

'The Police of course. I'll tell them everything."

"But you're not my son. You're some kid, doing a con job on me. You can't be my son ...?!"

"Why not? Were you going to say because he's dead? "

The man looked away. Furtively. Like a rat needing a bolthole.

"Maybe he isn't dead? Maybe he's back home again?" said Daniel, "I think that's what's happened. You thought he was dead, but now he's back."

The man put the phone down and came towards Daniel. He grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him from the chair.

"Who are you? What have you come here for!?"

"I told you," said Daniel, wincing with pain, "I'm your long lost son, come back to see his dear old Dad!"

The man threw Daniel back into the seat and turned away.

"Get out!" he shouted, "I don't know how you found out so much . . ." then he said, "Do you want money?"

"Money?" said Daniel, mocking, "What would I want money for? I'm supposed to be dead! You can't spend money where I've gone!"

"What are you after then?"

"A good question," said Daniel, leaning back in the chair and smiling again, "I think a confession would be a good start. How about popping down to the police station and telling them what you did to me?"

"No!"

"I didn't think you'd want to do that. Mind you, I could always do it for you ..."

"They wouldn't believe you."