The Day Before (24 page)

“So the messages you send can only be sent to an iteration where the messages would be sent, or could be sent, at some time?” Mac guessed.

Emir nodded again. “Yes. And the key is,” he said, excited, “that it will save lives. Perhaps not our own, but I think we will benefit in the end when the timelines come back together. This is a means of achieving a greater good for the species. Just think: a terrorist could attack tomorrow, and I could send a message to myself, today. I would know in advance. Think of the military good this could do! It brings our ground state further from extinction and closer to peace. One day, who knows: maybe our iteration will be the one that finds world peace. But”—­he chuckled in a self-­deprecating way—­“this is all speculation until the machine is finished.”

Sam thought about it—­and the manic man standing before her—­and all she could see was chaos.

 

CHAPTER 24

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Time must obey the laws of physics. Even I am not immune to this.

~ Excerpt from Lectures on the Movement of Time by Dr. Abdul Emir I1–20740413

Wednesday July 3, 2069

Alabama District 3

Commonwealth of North America

F
or the first time since she'd called the meeting, she wished MacKenzie was here for backup rather than down in the morgue helping Harley sort bodies sent up from the coast for identification. But it was probably better this way.

Dr. Emir had said it was impossible to move bodies back in time. Mac liked the idea of time-­traveling crime, and even she was willing to admit that theory fit the evidence better than the clone theory she was about to present to Marrins. But Emir's machine evidently didn't work, and there was still no motive linking Emir to Melody. On the other hand, Emir did have a background in cloning, access to everything needed to create a clone, and a disciplinary record from his previous employer showing that he was reprimanded for “having unnatural relations with clones.” She wasn't sure what counted as unnatural, but she was fairly certain she'd sleep better not knowing.

Locking Emir up was the solution to a lot of her problems.

Not that it hasn't created other problems. . .

“I told you to stay away, Rose.” Altin walked in, his hand unconsciously coming to rest on his gun as he scowled at her.

Sam leaned back, eyes wide. “I stayed away from the case.”

He glanced at the mess on the conference table, where she had spread out her the evidence of the case. “It sure doesn't look like it.”

“That was a lab break-­in with the possibility of stolen goods,” she said defensively. “I'm looking into a serial-­killer case. If the two are related, I'm sorry, but the killer takes precedence over some broken glass.”

Marrins came in with a mug of cheap office coffee. “Rose. Altin.” He nodded cordially, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Where's our skinny boy?”

“Harley needed him,” Sam said.

“Good for him.” Marrins nodded and sat. “All right.” He took a sip of his drink. “What'd you find?”

Sam gestured for Detective Altin to sit down. He scowled again while doing it.
For good measure, I suppose.
Standing up straight, she said, “While going through the mass grave to make identifications, we came across three unidentified bodies with similar skeletal trauma. All three were dropped at the same dump site. We identified the first as a former intern of N-­V Nova Labs. Another, I believe, is Melody Chimes.”

“She's in Paris,” Marrins said. “Talked to her myself.”

Sam pushed the readouts of the voice comparisons toward him. “I pulled these this morning to listen to them. Even a bad connection doesn't account for the change in vocal patterns. I believe that the woman you talked to killed Melody two years ago and stole her identity.”

Altin took the paperwork while Marrins looked at the voice printout. It was his turn to scowl.

Marrins set his coffee cup down. “All right, let's hear this theory you've cooked up.”

Sam cleared her throat. “John Doe is a biology student. Both Jane Does were found dead before any similar person was reported missing, which is why I suspect identity theft might have been a motive.”

“You have an ID for the second Jane?” Marrins asked.

She took a deep breath. “A possible match, yes, sir,” Sam answered, hoping they wouldn't press for names.

“Clone markers?” Altin asked.

“None, which supports my theory that these individuals were victims of extreme identity theft. Agent MacKenzie has suggested it could also support the theory that these were all quick clones, rapid aging and short-­lived, but without the Verville traces.” Altin began to protest, but Sam cut him off. “
Until
we can confirm they are clones, we're legally required to treat this as a homicide case.”

The detective whistled.

“Regardless of their technical status, the fact is there is no clone marker on either victim, Detective,” Sam pressed on. “The second Jane was tortured, and the suggestion has been put forward that someone might be fast-­cloning women for a fetish club. If you pull a clone out of the vat early enough, they won't have a clone marker. They also age faster and have limited mental capabilities. The evidence suggests that something similar might be happening in this case.”

“How does this tie to the lab, besides that two victims worked there?” Altin asked.

Here comes the leap of faith. “All three bodies have a strange radiating trauma pattern. Dr. Emir is working on an energy-­pulse machine that produces the same results. He doesn't intend for it to be a weapon, but I think he could kill someone with it. And I think the first death was accidental.”

Altin looked dubious. “You're suggesting Emir takes cloned whores back to his lab, gets his kicks, then offs the hookers?”

“Or that Emir was using the lab to create quick clones, and they got caught in his experiment's cross fire. Or, worst-­case scenario, Emir was killing his employees and selling their identities on the black market,” Sam said. “I'll admit we're still a little light on motive. But means and opportunity are definitely there, and all the evidence is pointing to that lab.

“Now, the warrant I had allowed me to go to the lab and question everyone, but I need special permission to take the equipment and the purchasing records. I need to see if Emir bought cloning equipment or stole it. We'll need to inventory the entire lab. Tracking down the woman who traveled to Paris as Melody Chimes will be crucial, too.” She looked at Altin. “That's why we need your help, Detective.”

Altin just sat there, face composed in thought.

Marrins wiped a hand across his face. “
Gez
, Rose. That's a mess and a half. That's a government-­funded lab.”

“Would it explain the break-­in?” Altin asked, breaking his silence.

Sam nodded. “When I was in the lab during testing, a teacup was cut in half and shattered by a pulse from Emir's machine. It matches the pattern of glass we found after the break-­in. A large pulse from Emir's machine could account for all the damage we saw. He wasn't supposed to be in the lab, but Mordicai Robbins left, and if Emir knew that the Melody Chimes working in the lab wasn't the real Miss Chimes—­if he had a hand in cloning her, which is a possibility—­what would stop him? She was a small woman. It wouldn't have been hard for him to overpower her or lure her back to the lab.”

Altin nodded. “Not all the pieces are there,” he warned.

“No, Detective,” she agreed. She turned to Marrins. “I'd like permission to bring Emir in for questioning, sir, and I'd like a full team to go out to the lab and look for trace residue from these three deaths and that of Mordicai Robbins. If Emir killed other ­people in his lab, that's where he would have been most comfortable killing the security guard.”

“Why kill Robbins?” Altin asked.

“To cover his rear,” Marrins said. “It all fits. I hate it, but it fits. Robbins probably came back, walked in on something he shouldn't have. Emir would try to buy his silence first. I'm guessing Robbins wanted more money, told him he'd tell everybody. Emir tells him the cash is ready and shoots Robbins when he comes in.” The senior agent mimed shooting a gun. “Emir is plenty old enough to have a war-­era gun, something with real bullets.”

“And by then, he'd already met Agent Rose,” Altin said. “Dumping the body at your house.” He sucked his breath between his teeth. “I told you it was a warning.”

“You were right,” Sam said.

Marrins finished his coffee and crumpled the cup. “I can't get a team in there fast, bureau red tape will slow us down.” He paused to do some mental calculations. “Friday will be the soonest. You did good work, Rose. Real good work, but you don't have the pull to make this case stick.”

“I understand, sir.” The lab was hallowed ground. Government-­funded, politically backed, the scientists working there did so with the full sanction of the local government. Getting in there would mean removing Emir's immunity from prosecution. The weapon he'd used was perfect. It was experimental, so he could claim all three deaths were tragic accidents. The best they could hope for—­politically—­was to pin Robbins's death on Emir, and even that would be hard.

But we have to do it. Even if only to give Melody's family closure.

“I'll handle Emir,” Marrins said. “Rose, you work on the cloning. Check all the unidentified bodies. See if we have any more matches. And when I'm done with Emir, I'll see what I need to do with you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Altin rapped the table with his knuckles. “Call if you need local backup. I know this is bureau territory, but the last thing this town needs is a killer on the loose. Do you want my ­people to check the clubs?”

“Do it,” Sam said, ignoring Marrins's scowl as she invited Altin to tramp through their turf.

S
am ate leftovers for dinner, then locked herself upstairs as she tried to sort the evidence. With a sigh, she shoved everything off her bed. No matter how she looked at it, the evidence didn't support the idea of a clone lab doing quick, aged clones. Nothing lined up.

Downstairs, the back door shut, and she heard Mac's truck start up. They hadn't eaten dinner together. At work, it was easy to fall into the role of friendly coworkers. Once back home, back in her safe haven, things turned awkward.

With a sigh, she shut the lights off. Sitting up reading wasn't going to get anything done—­she was too tired to make any progress on the case tonight. She needed twelve hours of sleep and an epiphany.

The emergency ring on her phone woke her four hours later. “Agent Rose, this is Emir. You must come to the lab. Now! You must come now!”

Sam yawned. “What's wrong?”

“Agent Rose, you must come to the lab,” Emir repeated.

“I'm sure you think so.”

“You owe me that much,” he pleaded.

“Emir, I don't get out of bed in the middle of the night for anyone, but I'll be happy to meet you tomorrow morning. How does ten sound?”

“My life is in danger. They are coming for me. If I don't give them what they want, they will kill me. They know it works now. I can't stall any longer.”

She rubbed her eyes. “What do they want?”

“My machine! You told them it works. You showed them it works.”

“
I
told them?” She scratched her nose. “I told Senior Agent Marrins about my visit. Detective Altin was there, too, and yes, the senior agent wants to talk to you. He has questions about some missing person cases. And, yes, this might destroy your career. But that's something you need to talk to a lawyer about.”

“Agent Rose!” Emir's voice rose in a panicked wail. “Please, I beg of you. Come to the lab tonight. Bring your partner, bring Altin, bring anyone, but come. Save me!”

“See you first thing tomorrow.” She wasn't sure, but she thought Emir was crying when she hung up the phone. Dropping a hand over the side of the bed, she petted Hoss's ear.

Would it really hurt to drive out there tonight? Mac was downstairs, with enough cold water, she could wake him up so he could do his best impression of a human before noon . . . No, he was at work.

Her fingers dug into Hoss's ruff in sudden terror. She was alone.

If she went now, she'd have to face Emir alone.

Melody Chimes probably did the same thing. She'd go alone tonight to answer his frantic terror-­driven call and be nothing more than a body in the ditch by morning. Locking the door and propping her desk chair under the handle, she went back to nightmare-­filled dreams. Dr. Emir could wait until daylight, and backup, arrived.

 

CHAPTER 25

Old age is a rare gift in our profession. All I hope for is a quick death.

~ Agent 5 I1–2074

Thursday July 4, 2069

Alabama District 3

Commonwealth of North America

A
n ambulance sat idle in front of the labs. Sam parked behind it. One of the EMTs gave her a nod she returned with a tight-­lipped smile. It wasn't even seven in the morning, and her day was already heading downhill.

“Agent Rose?” Altin stood in the middle of Nova Lab's atrium. “How'd you get here so fast?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I drove the speed limit and left at six thirty so I could talk to Dr. Emir before I went into work this morning. He called last night babbling about being threatened. Why?”

“Holt was supposed to call you. Emir is dead.”

“What?” Sam fumbled for her phone. “I talked to him a ­couple of hours ago.” She pulled up the recent calls list and shoved the phone at Altin. “I talked to him less than five hours ago. He's alive. He has to be alive. I have questions for him.”

Altin sighed as he read the number. “Emir was shot sometime last night. Mr. Troom called us when he showed up this morning and found the lab unlocked, but the doctor wasn't there. We found the body ten minutes ago back along the tree line behind the lab.”

“Can I see him?”

“Sure, it's bureau jurisdiction.” He led her through the back atrium doors and past the stone picnic tables up the little hill to the pine trees, where Emir lay facedown on the ground, turned away from her.

“His throat's shot out.” All she saw were the ragged edges of the wound, but it was enough.

“Yup. Same as Robbins.” Altin tapped his fingers on the butt of his gun. He studied her for a long, silent minute.

“What?”

“He called you?”

“Yes.”

“Because he was threatened?”

Her jaw clenched. “Yes.”
Go on. Ask it.

“Why didn't you come down?”

“Because I didn't think it was safe. He's a primary suspect in a homicide case.”
Because I didn't believe he was in danger.
Damn, that stung. She should have found some body armor and gone anyway.

Altin said nothing but tossed the phone up and down. “You had your GPS turned on last night, all of that?”

“I've recorded every conversation with Emir since you asked me to turn the recorder on. He calls constantly, two or three times a day, at odd hours of the night sometimes. He's not . . .” The words trailed off as a sob caught in her throat. “God, forgive me. I thought it was just another crazy ramble.” She crossed herself.

“The boy who cried wolf,” Altin said. “You going to be okay?”

Like there were any choices. “I'll be fine. Let me get my stuff from the car, and I'll start talking to ­people. Maybe we'll get lucky, and the security guards will have seen something.”

T
he copper penny spun in the fading sunlight, knocked into the efile of Melody Doe, and rattled to the tabletop. Mac picked it up and spun it again. This was the massacre at the valley all over again. He felt it in his bones. Something was missing. If he just looked hard enough, he would find the link and avert disaster.

Apply a little gray matter, MacKenzie.
If you're all jizzing smart, why can't you see the obvious?

He flicked the penny up and caught it on his hand, flipping it over to see if it landed heads or tails.
Heads.
Lincoln and Eva Perez smiled at each other from the one-­cent piece. Mrs. Perez looked like she'd had her hair updated, too. He flipped the coin again.
Tails—­
2074.

He flipped the coin again.
Tails.

Wait. . .

Mac looked at the date—­2074.

Impossible. That was five years in the future. The mints might be efficient, but no one would . . .

The efiles dragged his attention. Three ­people, all dead before they went missing. Three cases of identical trauma. Mac dragged his hand across his mouth as he started sweating. This was madness. But that was the obvious answer, wasn't it?

Time travel.

Emir had knocked three ­people back in time.

Even the fracture patterns could support that. Jane Doe's ripples were nearly continuous. She'd been the closest to the blast and traveled the farthest back. Melody Doe, Melody Chimes . . . she'd never left the office. The explosion in Emir's lab killed her, and knocked her two years into the past to when Emir was first beginning his experiments. Matthew? The radial pattern was barely discernible, how far was he knocked back? A day, perhaps? A week at the most. Not enough to cause notice.

Mac flipped the coin again: 2074.

Mrs. Azalea said Sam borrowed her car. That Sam left the coin in the car . . . but Sam hadn't. She
would
, though. Some future Sam would leave the penny in the car after borrowing it from Mrs. Azalea.

The front door slammed open and shut. Mac shut the files down and looked up expectantly. Sam walked in, perfection in a straight-­laced bureau uniform. Everything from her starched white shirt to her navy blue pumps were in place. His eyes rested for just a moment below her neckline, wondering if she was still wearing the lacy black bra from the first day they'd met.

She tossed her purse on the counter and went to the fridge to pour water. “Tell me you have good news.”

“Rough day?”

“Twelve hours of interrogations, reviewing security video, and listening to hours of Emir's phone calls. He's dead, by the way, I don't know if you got the memo down in the morgue. Someone shot him execution style. So, please, tell me you've cured cancer or something.”

“I solved the Doe case. The killer, an explanation for the bodies, an explanation for the ripple pattern of the Janes, a location for Melody Chimes, and I can even tell you where to look for the clone lab.”

“Not quite cancer . . .” Sam deadpanned, but he could tell she was eager. “You've been busy.”

He flipped the penny again. “I got lucky.”

“A lucky penny? Cute.” They looked at each other for a second, until Sam said, “Do you need an invitation? Tell me what you have!”

Mac tossed her the coin. “Read the date.” He waited until her confusion turned to a furious frown.

“Is this . . . ?”

Mac nodded. “Emir's machine works, perhaps a little too well. Matthew, Melody, Jane . . . all three were bounced back in time by the machine. He said each iteration, the parallel dimensions, would produce a duplicate person. It's cloning without clone markers or test tubes. I'm willing to bet that Matthew and Melody were accidents.”

Sam touched the Jane Doe efile lightly. She turned it around. “But I wasn't?”

“I don't know, yet. You're still alive.”

Sam's brow furrowed. “How does Emir send me back in time if he's dead?”

“Maybe he doesn't. Jane is a
possible
you.”

“A
probable
me. “That's what Emir was saying about ground states. No matter how many variables you plug in, the majority of iterations come back to one ground state. A similar path of history. All timelines become one timeline. Isn't that what he said?” Sam asked.

“Yes.”

“So Jane is me in five years.”

Mac took the file away from her. “No. That won't be you.” He said it so firmly that Sam's head snapped up. His eyes caught hers, and he made it clear how confident he was.
I won't let it be you. Ever.
He watched as she swallowed, her eyes softening.

“Tell me what happened to Emir,” he said quietly.

Composed, Sam said, “He was tied up behind the lab. Shot through the throat like Robbins. His intern called the police first thing this morning.” She licked her lips. “He called me last night.”

Mac frowned. “The intern?”

“Emir . . . He called, begging me to come to the lab. He said they knew it worked, and they were going to kill him. He couldn't stall them.”

“They who?”

“He didn't say.” Her hands clenched. “I didn't go. I could have saved him, and I didn't.”

“How were you going to save him?”

Sam looked up sharply. “What?”

“You were going to rush in alone? Again? For what? They—­whoever they are—­would have tied you up, and you'd be dead with Emir.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Why didn't you go?” Mac asked, knowing the answer before she said it.

She looked out the window with a hundred-­mile stare. “I thought it was a trap.”

“You were right.”

Sam crossed her arms. “It doesn't help. If I'd called Altin—­”

“He wouldn't have believed it any more than you did.”

“I know. Altin said the same thing when he listened to the phone call this afternoon.” She sighed. “I hate failing.”

“No kidding?”

Sam smiled before shaking her head. “We need to tell someone about this.”

“Who?” He raised an eyebrow. “It's time travel, Sam. The first thing anyone is going to do is lock us up for a psych eval. After we've spent three months in padded rooms, we'll come out with our careers shot to find out they've classified this into a black hole. This is dangerous information.”

“Are we crazy?
Should
we go in for a psych eval? I mean, time travel?”

“It fits all the evidence we have. The DNA, the patterns on the skeletons, the penny.” He held up his lucky coin. “It all lines up.”

She laughed. “It lines up?”

“Occam's razor—­the simplest answer is usually the correct one.”

“And you consider time travel simple?”

“I consider it the only explanation that fits with the evidence we have.”

“Why didn't Emir know the machine worked, though? He said it only sent waves. If it could do more, why wouldn't he publish that information?”

“Even if he could only send small things back in time, think of the damage. Next year, someone sends back an advanced phone prototype. The research labs tinker with it, and we make a huge advance, but then someone sends back a phone from ten years in the future. It's too advanced, so we just re-­create it without developing the science. What happens from there? When do we hit a point where we are dependent on the future?”

Sam slipped the penny from his fingers. “What happens when someone travels too far back and introduces a new virus, or a new weapon?”

He took the penny back, letting his hands linger on hers. “What happens when we send ­people back, and we have iterations instead of clones? If your husband's duplicate comes back in time, who are you married to? Does the duplicate have a right to your bank account? Your health care? Your children? Genetically, aren't they his? And that doesn't even address the nonliving things—­books, art, music—­that could be sent back in time. Buy a famous painting, send it back, sell it as your own.”

“If all iterations reach a ground state where they are the same . . .”

“Emir said this was based on wave forms. All the waves cancel each other out. Every time you split history, it creates a wave, and the wave crashes back to the ground state. Sam”—­he took her hand—­“anyone who has this information is going to want to use it.”

“I don't!” She looked panicked. “Do you?”

Glad he was holding her hand, Mac nodded. “If I could go back and warn my platoon what would happen . . . if I could prevent the massacre from happening? I would.”

“It would be a way to test the machine,” she offered carefully.

“No. Luckily for me, the temptation is more of a pipe dream.”

“What do you mean?”

“The machine wasn't invented then, so I couldn't go that far back. At least I think that's how it works. Because if I could, I don't know if I could stop myself. The idea of undoing all that pain . . .” He looked past her, seeing the sand and sun and blood and fire . . .

“Mac?”

She said it so softly, at first he wasn't sure he heard. But then he swallowed, finally saying, “Anyone who knows this machine works will use it.”

Sam frowned. “Someone killed Emir because the machine worked.”

“Yes.”

“Did they kill him to stop the machine or because he wouldn't use it the way they wanted?”

“I don't know.”

“I really, really hate not having any answers.”

Mac flipped the penny. “Then let's find some.”