Sand City Murders (12 page)

“If I were you, I would call the animal shelter.”

“Animal shelter?”

“Yes, you may speak to Alyson, I believe her name is.”

“You know Alyson?”

“No.”

“Well?”

“Inquire about a stray dog,” he suggested.

“Roxy, the yorkshire terrier?”

The inspector nodded and added a half smile.

I found the number and dialed. Alyson was not working today, but Emma was just as obliging. She checked the records and talked to the dog. He seemed to respond to the name. She didn’t know anything about a collar though. Roxy was found a few weeks ago out near North Hollow Beach. I stared at the inspector, not with anger but utter incomprehension.

“The present and the future are determined by the past.”

“That’s helpful.”

“I mentioned to you before that I fixed these previous murders.”

“Yes. But I don’t understand how. It’s impossible to me.”

“Nonetheless, Roxy was instrumental to my efforts.” The inspector took another sip of tea. “The poor creature made the ultimate sacrifice for his owner.”

“The ultimate sacrifice would be death, I’d say.”

“Perhaps…”

“Wait... you can’t just say
perhaps..
.”

Fynn laughed broadly. He rose from the table. “The broccoli chicken is rather good. I’m going back for more.”

I felt queazy. I was definitely not going to get my fifteen dollars worth today. I tried hard to enter into reporter mode; that is, asking the right questions at the right time in the right way, and sitting back and listening. Somehow this strategy was not working very well on Inspector Fynn.

“Okay, the way I figure it, we’re back to time travel,” I said as soon as he sat again.

“Alright,” he replied and looked at me, “perhaps that is the best way to begin.”

I waited but the inspector dug into his lunch without a word. My mind was racing. Time travel? What a crock. Who the heck is this guy? He’s clearly insane, maybe a lunatic or worse…

“Time is divided into the past, present and future,” Fynn stated the obvious and pushed his plate away. He poured another cup of tea. “The present however is all that really matters, the flux of the now… this is everything for time.” He paused and gave me a long hard look. “You might say I am unstuck from it. Quite simply, I have the ability to remove myself from the flux of the now and enter a different one.”

“A different one?”

“Yes, from your perspective, it would be the past or the future.”

“Whoa, you are talking about time travel.”

“If you insist on calling it that, very well then, yes. It is different however in this sense: when I
travel
to the past. I merely go back to a place where I have been before. I re-visit that consciousness, if you will.”

“Isn’t that called memory?”

The inspector chuckled. “For most people.”

“How is this different?”

“When I cast myself back, I bring with me all my new experiences, those from the present— and not to confuse matters— those from the future.”

“It’s impossible.”

“I agree. Yet it is so.”

“But how?”

“How? This is a very big question.”

“Can you travel to the future?”

“I can… though this is a different kettle of fish. It’s all rather complicated.” Fynn leaned forward in his seat. “Traveling from place to place often fractures the present.”

I poured myself another cup of tea and dumped in a sugar packet. I tried to think what he meant. “Okay… so, this is like alternate timelines or something?”

“I dislike that word, but it will suffice for now.”

“Let me try to get this straight. In one timeline, these murders that I remember, happened... but now they haven’t, because it’s a new timeline.”

“That’s a rather confusing way to put it. Recall that I fixed these other murders.”

“By traveling to the past?”

“Correct.”

“And returning to the present.” I thought about that for a second. “My present... which would be your future.”

“Also correct.”

“So you can travel back and forth?”

“Not precisely. It’s more involved than you might think. There’s a lot to understand.”

“Why am I the only one who is noticing both, um, both realities?”

“This is most unusual, as I’ve mentioned. Why you remember me at all is extraordinary, nearly unprecedented in my experience.”

“Durbin doesn’t remember anything?”

“Not a whit.”

“And Arantez really is in Amsterdam?”

“As far as I know.”

“But I remember both timelines.”

“As you say. I cannot explain this at all, except to say it has something to do with you.”

“Me?”

“You are somehow different than most other people.”

“Okay,” I said, stalling, trying to find a new tack. “How did you fix these first two murders?”

“By traveling back to the past and changing things. What happens in the past always changes the present.”

“But how did you fix them so quickly, I mean, since yesterday?”

“It may seem that way to you… For me, nearly a year has passed. It’s been quite a complicated endeavor.”

“Okay, then how?”

“How?” he repeated and stared at me with widened eyes. “Oh, you mean the particulars?”

“Yeah.”

“Well for Clara, who likes to take her dog to the beach, it was rather easy.” The inspector sat back and crossed his arms. He grinned, there was something distinctly owl-like about his expression, though I’d never seen a bird smile.

“You kidnapped her dog?”

The inspector glanced at me and surprise crossed his face. “Yes… no dog to walk, no murder to commit.”

“You brought Roxy to the future?”

“Into the present, yes.” Fynn paused. “For a second time.”

“A second time?”

“It seems Clara was clutching her dog on that first tragic night…”

“When she was murdered?”

“Yes. But her little pet seems no worse for wear despite his arduous journeys.”

“You can do that? Take a passenger with you?”

“It works for dogs… they live very much in the flux of the now and seem to be immune to this sort of travel.”

“Wait, I’m hearing some implications to that.”

“How so?”

“It works for dogs but not for people?”

“Patrick, you are very astute. It does not go well for people.”

“Why not?”

“There is the searing pain for one.”

“Searing pain?”

“It’s complicated… but more, it’s about awareness. A person’s consciousness does not usually survive such a journey.”

“Yours seems to.”

“I’ve had many years of practice.”

“How many years?”

“Untold years.”

“I can’t believe any of this.” I scratched the back of my neck. “It’s a trick, some kind of elaborate hoax. But I can’t figure out what you’re looking to get—”

“It’s no trick, I assure you,” the inspector cut me short. “I am trying to offer an explanation here, an explanation that is comprehensible to you.”

“Well it’s not comprehensible at all.”

“Ah, I understand how you must feel at the moment. All that I’ve said flies in the face of science. Yet there is a certain amount of evidence which you cannot deny.”

“Like?”

“Roxy for one... Your own memories…”

“But, like physical evidence?” I asked, then paused to answer my own question. “There’s none. Roxy doesn’t count.”

“I agree. There is no real physical evidence. I’m sure the files I presented to you do not qualify.”

“Oh those… there’s no way for me to verify any of that.”

“Yes, you have nothing to compare them with… only your fleeting memory.”

“Can you do it now?”

“What?”

“Travel back in time.”

“Now?” Fynn asked, slightly astonished.

“Why not? Prove it to me.”

“No. I have no wish to do so at the moment. Not on such a full stomach.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“So, this is a scam. You can’t offer any proof.”

“I cannot.”

The inspector remained silent for a time. He poured another tiny cup of tea. I thought to change tacks again. “How did you save victim number two, grandma Helling?”

“Would you really like to know?” A smile spread across the inspector’s face.

“Hell yeah.”

“Alright then, we will go for another drive.”

“What, now?”

“Have you finished eating?”

I had, and I also had to pick up the check. Asian East did not accept Euros, nor travelers checks. I was out forty bucks now. I guess it was worth it. Scam or not, this was going to be a great story.

The inspector asked me to drive through town towards the Marina. We crossed through the dockyards and the piers at the end of Long Neck and he directed me down a small alley I’d never seen before. We pulled into a gravel parking lot surrounded by low concrete structures. He got out, held up a key and walked towards one of the buildings which was a garage. He unfastened a giant padlock and I helped lift the door. It was dark, but I could see a car inside, covered by a tight-fitting tarpaulin. Inspector Fynn gingerly unwrapped the vehicle. I stood face to face with a 1974 Pontiac T-37. It was pumpkin orange and premo, like it had just come from the dealership. I was speechless. The inspector came up to my side and handed me a key on a rabbit’s foot, then started to chuckle softly.

“Check the mileage,” he suggested and found a light switch. A single bulb glowed from the low roof.

I unlocked the car and got in on the driver’s side. The odometer read less than ten thousand. I also found a pocketbook on the seat. Inside: lipstick, some gum, twenty-two bucks and a California license, Debra Helling, DOB: August 8, 1954. Her face seemed very familiar.

“But how?” I asked. “You time traveled in a car?”

“No. Nothing of the sort.”

“You stole it though.”

“I did.”

“It’s Debra Helling’s?”

“It is.”

“And that stopped her murder?”

“Absconding with her vehicle was enough to upset her routine. She gave up jogging for a time.” Fynn smiled. “Check the registration. It’s still in the glove box.”

I searched and found a faded document, it was almost crumbling and hard to read. The car was registered to Debra Helling but it had long since expired. Hanging from the rearview mirror was a hideous troll, a miniature pink doll only a couple of inches long with blue hair, wide staring eyes and a smirk on its face. I walked around the car and examined it more carefully. Wasn’t off the showroom floor after all. I could see swaths of rust had spread across the chrome bumpers. The plates had been removed. It had four flat tires and the finish was starting to dull. The salt air had indeed taken its toll on the vehicle.

“Well?” Fynn asked, “Physical evidence?”

My brain went into logic mode. Here I was, standing next to a forty-year-old abandoned car. There was a murder victim that only I remembered, or at least only Fynn and I. The registration matched, a pocketbook… but how about the VIN? Or fingerprints even? My thoughts were racing. Corpsicle came back to mind. My tongue had a will of its own. I blurted out: “You killed her forty years ago, you stole her car, you came back and dumped her body two days ago— forty years later. Why? It’s so sick and twisted...”

The inspector was clearly astonished by my outburst. “How can you say such a thing?”

“It’s the only possible explanation.”

“I see,” Fynn said a little too patiently. “Well then, you should take me to Detective Durbin and have me arrested for a murder which has not been committed.”

I looked at Fynn, searching for anything I could understand, anything that would make sense. A different trail of logic prevailed, a crazy trail.
Time travel?
“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m sorry. I must.” Fynn put his hand on my shoulder. “For the fourth time, Patrick, I will say, you have an extraordinary memory.” He looked hard at me. “I need your help again.”

“Again?”

The inspector said nothing.

“We’ve met before… I mean, before yesterday?” I asked.

“Yes, any number of times.”

“I don’t remember those.”

“No. I don’t suppose you would. They are somewhat further from our present.”

“Okay, okay, say this whole thing is not a hoax... I still don’t get what’s going on.”

“Slowly, it will be made clear, I promise.”

I felt overwhelmed and started to stammer, “Mr Fynn... Inspector… I don’t know what to say. I don’t understand what’s happening here. And, I’m very confused right now.” I felt like sitting down but settled for leaning against the back of the Pontiac.

“I’m sure you are, and I am sorry to ask so much of you.” The inspector paused and faced me. He gently put his hand on my shoulder. “Not long ago, I woke up to find that my wife and daughter were missing,” he said solemnly and gave me an expression filled with sorrow. It seemed genuine.

“You have a daughter?”

“Yes. Anika… she is a bit younger than you.” Fynn hesitated. “It is most unusual that my own reality should be changed like this. Such a thing has never happened to me before in my long life. Perhaps, it shouldn’t even matter to me. Perhaps somewhere, in a parallel reality, my wife and daughter are absolutely fine and content… Yet, this does bother me, dreadfully.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Someone else has changed my present, my timeline, if you will.”

“Apparently, it happens to me all the time.”

The inspector gave me an odd glance, then he smiled and chuckled, and started laughing. “You’ve always had a fine sense of humor, Patrick.”

I started to piece together everything he’d said. “I’m sorry about your wife and your daughter and all… but why can’t you just fix it, like you did for the others?”

“I wish it were that simple.”

“It’s not?”

“No.” Fynn gave me a long look. “As I say, I need your help.”

“How?”

“I need your extraordinary memory.”

Something stuck in the back of my mind, something completely absurd: Did I still have to call Alyson for a lunch date? “I’m not sure I’m getting any of this,” I said hesitantly, still leaning on the car. “You say you can travel to the past and back to the present… and the future?”