By DAVID TRISTRAM
Imagine the plight of poor old Robert Zeinfeld. Found wandering the streets of Leicester at 4am, without even the slightest clue how he got there. Total amnesia. And only a bruised head and a suspicious policeman for company. Not an experience you'd forget in a hurry, I would imagine. But then again, you have to see it from the policeman's point of view. Maybe this Zeinfeld character's not what he seems. Maybe he hasn't lost his memory at all. Maybe it's all an elaborate cover-up for, well, something or other. Trouble is, the deeper he digs, the more confused he gets, until he finds himself wrestling a plot with more twists than a buckled slinky. Of course, the truth always comes out in the end. But first you have to know it's the end, and then you have to understand what the truth really means.
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