Jump City: Apprentice Page 13

  “Oh… just a bad dream…”

  We finally settled on stools near the bar. Fynn ordered a single-malt and I chose a local microbrew on draft, something with a buffalo on the label. We found a corner to ourselves.

  “So… Fynn. What are you doing here?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I have to ask, do you think this is a time travel thing?”

  “These crimes, you mean?”

  I nodded.

  “Of course not. What makes you say that?”

  “Old cars, a crime spanning decades, you being here…”

  “Ha,” Fynn laughed, “I assure you, I am here as a detective and not a time traveler.”

  “What about these murders?”

  “I’m rather baffled by the whole case, as it has been presented so far.”

  “It could be time travel though, right?”

  “I certainly won’t steer the investigation in that direction.” Fynn smiled. “Though, I suppose it depends on what sort of traveler might be involved.”

  “Wait, what sort of traveler?” I sat in silence for a moment, trying to understand what this could mean. “Are you saying there are different kinds of time travelers?”

  “Well, perhaps I am. I’ve been conferring with some friends, and they seem to think such is possible.”

  I was more than just confused. “Who told you this?”

  “Madame Madeline. You may meet her some day.” Fynn eyed me for a reaction but I had none. “I don’t necessarily believe such things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Different kinds of travelers, I suppose. Recall what Mortimer said at the quarry: no more soft jumps… and all that about doppelgängers… I didn’t believe it was possible at first, but now, begrudgingly, I have to admit I might be wrong about this.”

  “Begrudgingly?”

  “Perhaps humbly is a better word.”

  “Who are these friends of yours?”

  “Madame Madeline and Brigadier Thomas, amongst others. I’m sure you’ll meet them some day.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  My comment gave Fynn pause. He stared at me for some time and then began to chuckle, “Ha, that’s quite funny, Patrick.”

  I wasn’t sure why that was humorous at all. “What?”

  Fynn looked me over, gauging my confusion. “Rest assured, Patrick. This crime has nothing to do with time travel.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “To jump to here, or from here, would be tantamount to suicide. No traveler would dare attempt libra lapsus. You can be quite certain there are no time travelers in this part of Colorado.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Quite simply, the altitude. It is much too high to jump safely.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning any landing at sea level would be hazardous to your bones.”

  “I never thought of that.”

  “A terrible place to jump from… The elevation is more than a thousand meters.”

  “For hard jumps, you mean.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Has this ever happened?”

  “Doubtless, the earth is littered with such travelers, broken limbs, dead from the shock, the searing pain, drowned in the seas… or counted among the missing persons.”

  “That’s terrible to contemplate.”

  “I can only agree.”

  “Still, couldn’t someone, a murderer for example, travel here like I did, or you did.”

  “I see what you mean, by bus or train. Of course, you are correct.”

  “And they could have committed these crimes?”

  “Well, traveler or not, in the end, we must come up with a result that will satisfy the police at the very least, not necessarily ourselves.”

  “How about we fix this crime?”

  “Such may not be possible. We certainly need to solve it first.”

  I thought it best not to tell Fynn that I’d been seeing ghosts in the corner of my eye. We were interrupted by a gang of college kids who had descended on the nearby pool table. It was hard to explain how four or five students could make such a ruckus.

  “Be thankful it isn’t Wednesday, karaoke night,” Fynn commented as the noise continued unabated.

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “Of course,” he said and looked around the place. “All this will close down for renovations at the end of March.”

  “What are you talking about, Fynn?”

  “I was here once, a few years from now, and the whole bar was entirely different.”

  “You were here once, a few years from now?” I repeated. “Does that really make any sense?”

  “To me, it makes perfect sense.”

  “Okay, well, what’s it going to be like?”

  “More like a prohibition-era speakeasy.”

  “Why?”

  “I have absolutely no inkling.” Fynn took a sip of scotch. “Anyway, you should know better than me at this point. You live here.”

  “Yeah, about that…” I started reluctantly, fearing his answer. “Can you tell me how I got to Colorado?”

  “There’s nothing mysterious about it. The Chronicle was bought by Mr Chamblis. You packed up your Saab, took your cat, and accepted the job here in Boulder. It’s been several months since you’ve left Sand City.”

  “Oh…” I paused awkwardly. “How’s Anika?”

  “She’s very well and sends you a big hello.” Fynn smiled. “In fact, she’s gone back to school.”

  “Really? What’s she taking?”

  “Pre-law.”

  “Wow, I think she’d make a great lawyer.”

  “I can only agree.”

  “I guess I owe her a phone call… Um, is she still friends with Suzy Chandler?”

  “As far as I know, though I have not seen her at the house for a long while.”

  I masked my disappointment and changed the subject: “And how’s your wife, Lorraine?”

  “She is also fine and happy.”

  “Anything else?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Anything else happening in Sand City?” I asked casually.

  “You mean, anything bad?”

  “I guess I do.”

  “Strangely quiet, I would say… considering.”

  “Considering what?”

  “Considering that Mortimer’s cane was stolen some months ago.”

  “And you’re sure it was him who took it?”

  “Who else could it be?” Fynn raised an eyebrow. “So far— even though he retrieved his precious cane at the beginning of September— nothing seems to have come of it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t wish to speculate.” Fynn gave me a pained expression. “I can only suppose he hasn’t got it to operate, at least fully. He will of course, eventually. Perhaps for now, Mortimer has traveled off to some far flung future.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Indeed. Oh, and Sheriff Durbin sends his regards as well.”

  “Sheriff Durbin? You must mean Detective Durbin.”

  “As you say.”

  “Wait, isn’t it Chief Durbin now?”

  “Of course, you are right.”

  “So that’s it?” I persisted. I had a funny feeling that Fynn was being evasive.

  “Not entirely. I don’t wish to be the bearer of bad news, but there is this…” The inspector pulled a photo from his briefcase and let it fall to the table. “Clearly, your former colleague, Lucinda, eh?” Fynn said. “Durbin found her body in the canal just a day before I departed.”

  “Wait. Canal?” I asked. “There’s no canal in Sand City.”

  “Of course there is. It runs through Oldham.”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “That’s rather distressing.”

  “I’ll say…” I paused and stared at Fynn. “So, Mortimer has returned?”

  “That well may be the case. Tell me, Patric
k— have you been dreaming again?”

  “Dreaming? No, why do you ask?”

  “It’s very important for you to remember your dreams.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s in keeping with your special ability.”

  “My extraordinary memory, you mean?”

  “As you say. Tell me about these dreams, please.”

  I hesitated. “I think you already asked me that.”

  “Tell me again, please. I believe them to be very important.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Didn’t you read the book I gave you about dreams?” Fynn asked.

  “What book?”

  “You are completely exasperating at times, Patrick.”

  “Okay, well I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

  “Ah, so then you’ve been concentrating on astronomy?”

  “Well, no actually.”

  “Patrick, I’m sorry to scold you, but you must apply yourself to your lessons. I can’t have you flopping around like a fish.” Inspector Fynn reached into his briefcase and pulled out a couple of books. “Do you remember reading this?”

  Lucid Dreaming, a Step by Step Approach.

  “No.”

  “I’ve done well then by bringing you another copy.” Fynn smiled and held up the other book: The New Astronomer. “And this, doesn’t it seem familiar to you?”

  “Sorry to say no again.”

  “Tell me about your dreams then…”

  ***

  I had trouble falling asleep that night, too upset about Lucinda and a canal that shouldn’t exist. Something was wrong. I took out my laptop and mapped Sand City. Everything seemed as it should until I hit the satellite view and zoomed in on the border of Oldham. There it was: The Lionel Canal. It cut across the salt marsh from the marina all the way to the breach.

  Zachary meandered between my feet and let off a plaintiff meow. “What’s up, little guy?” I asked, not expecting an answer. A moment later there was a knock on my door. It was Cindy and her furry boots.

  “Oh hey… I was driving by and saw your light on,” she said and gave me a devouring smile. “Thought we might go over this week’s Murder Lake story.”

  “Sure, come on in, Cindy. It’s good to see you…”

  * * *

  chapter ten

  all county

  The next morning I was a bit late arriving to the Boulder Public Safety Complex on 33rd Street, and maybe a little hung over. Surprisingly or not I breezed by security, my name was on a good list now that I had a dangling lanyard. I grabbed a cup of coffee and a donut and sat in the back of a large modern conference room, darkly paneled and with raised seats like an auditorium.

  Captain Jamal Morris was already up front waiting to address fifty people or so. He stood underneath an enormous hanging TV. It was blank except for the Boulder PD logo that drifted aimlessly across its screen. A few whiteboards had been pushed into the corner of the stage.

  Jamal finally got everyone’s attention with a loud clap. “Okay, people, let’s get a seat…” He paced back and forth, never once stopping at the podium that had been set up there. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Captain Jamal Morris, Boulder PD. For those of you who do know me, I’m that same guy.” His comment was greeted with a few chuckles. “We’ve got some new faces here… so if you don’t know somebody, don’t be shy, go up to them, read their name tag and say hello. Cooperation and communication are key to breaking this case. We need everyone on the same page, people… Okay?”

  Jamal looked around the room and made eye contact with several specialists. “Pretty sure we’ve got a rep from every department— at least one…” he laughed to himself. “I see County, the State Police, the DA’s office… liaisons from the Sheriff’s, the Marshals, and Nederland PD. Fire and Rescue over there, DPW, University PD…” Jamal scanned the crowd with his finger. “I hope I’m not stepping on any jurisdictional toes, like those two guys in the back,” Jamal joked. “Let’s give a welcome to the agents from the bureau. Really guys, it’s a pleasure to have you here.” He paused. “And good morning to our new arrivals, the three gentleman from Texas, the rangers… the Texas Rangers, not the baseball team— you know what I’m saying.”

  A few chuckles spread through the room. “Of course, up front as usual, we’ve got our records officers… I won’t even start on forensics, enough to say the entire State of Colorado’s resources are at our disposal. Thank you all, ladies and gentleman… Did I miss anybody?” Jamal paused to smile and look around the room one last time. He spotted me. “Oh, and last and maybe least, our press liaison, Patrick Jardel from the Boulder City Broadsheet, who by the look of things, just snuck in late.”

  A few people laughed and some looked back at me.

  “We can thank Mr Jardel and his paper for providing names to our victims, and I say this in all seriousness… It’s saved us a lot of confusion around here.”

  “It wasn’t me, it was my colleague, Cindy Ramirez.”

  “Well, please thank Cindy for us.” Morris smiled and continued, “A couple of announcements to start. You will all find a new packet in front of you; that’s the dark blue folder… with updated information. First point of order, from today on, our numbering system has changed. Each profile is now ordered by the likely TOD, as determined by the ME’s office— oldest to most recent— and not, I repeat, not in the order of vehicle recovery.”

  Someone called out: “Why change the numbering system at this point?”

  “That’s a very good question,” Morris replied with a smile. “It’s been brought to my attention that the order of recovery has absolutely nothing to do with the crimes themselves and everything to do with us. That’s not in anyway a disrespect to the recovery teams. You guys did a great job… Thanks… I also want to give a big shout out to all the uniforms for their work on the follow-ups; the vehicle checks, and the house-to-house on the south hill or anywhere else near the reservoir. Everyone has been interviewed and re-interviewed… So far though, no one saw a damn thing.”

  I raised my hand and got Jamal’s attention. “Sorry to interrupt, Captain…”

  “Mr Jardel… a question?”

  “Not so much a question… Um, on the social media front, we’ve had a couple of people come forward as… well, witnesses, they claim. At least one person heard music coming from the reservoir and another saw a blinking orange light.”

  “Well thanks, seems worth checking. We’ll talk after the meeting, okay?” Jamal proceeded with his presentation: “Final point of order this morning: we are seriously over budget on research… that would be Frances Lee…” Jamal paused. “I know she does a bang up job, but word has come down from on high, all future requests must go through Victoria Meade’s office from this day forward. Franny is probably feeling a little overwhelmed right about now, and she needs some time to spend all the money we’ve paid her.” He chuckled to himself. “Is Franny here this morning?” he asked and looked around the room. “No?”

  “Okay then… We begin this morning with our latest victim, no doubt the big break in our case, and our second positive identification: Ms Mercedes, aka, Ms Jolene Hendricks, age forty-one, from Uvalde, Texas. First reported missing February second, two thousand and thirteen. Thanks to the generous cooperation of the Texas Rangers, we’ll be able to put her in the picture here. One thing we have checked already is her cell phone— though unfortunately, not a single call to Colorado from Ms Hendricks.

  “We’ve currently tasked the records officers with scouring her personal life, telephone calls, friends and associates, business dealings— anything that might lead us back to Theodore Wheeler, our primary person of interest.” Morris paused. “As for Mr Wheeler, there is nothing new to say. He has yet to provide vehicle history records. That’s a problem. For now, he’s under surveillance and will remain there until facts dictate otherwise.” Jamal looked around the room. “Okay. Questions anyone?”

  No one seemed to have any. “Let’s ge
t started then… I’ve arranged for three short presentations to get everyone up to speed, but before that, I’d like to bring up my friend and a special consultant to the task force, Detective Chief Inspector Tractus Fynn, formerly of the Amsterdam Police and Interpol.” Jamal paused again. “Okay, now I know nobody likes it when I bring in an outsider… I understand this. But, in fairness to Inspector Fynn, he’s already made some significant contributions to the investigation, and he has a knack for seeing the big picture. So, I’ll ask that you put your pride in your pocket and listen to what he has to say. If you don’t like it, I can always fire him.”

  At that Fynn took the stage. “Thank you, Captain, for such a vote of confidence,” he began. “I will say, I do not wish to solve this case personally. I am merely a facilitator. All of you sitting here will catch our killer. Each one of you has a part of this complicated puzzle, and this morning I would like to put the pieces together. I will first mention that what you have accomplished already quite astounds me. I congratulate all your efforts thus far…” Fynn began a slow applause that eventually spread through the room. “If you please, this morning I want you all to speak up. Feel free to interrupt at anytime, as Mr Jardel has already done so.” He paused to smile. “I am hoping for open discussion…” Fynn waited for a moment and changed his tone, “I begin this morning with a single word: Ice.”

  A murmur of affirmation and acknowledgment spread through the room.

  “Not the rafts?” someone asked.

  “I think not,” Fynn said. “It would be extremely difficult to push a car from a raft while the emergency brake is engaged… But I get ahead of myself… we should perhaps wait for the presentations before delving into this matter.” Fynn strolled away from the podium. “However, we will now need weather forensics… Can someone find out for us when this reservoir has frozen over in the past? We would need exact dates if possible. I’ve been told, eight to twelve inches is enough to support the weight of a vehicle.”

  Someone raised their hand. “I’m on it.”

  Jamal rose from the front row of seats and spoke again, “On the positive side, I can say with complete certainty this killer will not strike again, at least not at Barker Meadow, which you may have noticed is starting to freeze over again. Most of you know about the NedCam up there, and well, we are working out some software issues at the moment, but hope to get it up and running in a day or two. There’s a plan to hook it up to a recorder as well, so the reservoir will be monitored twenty-four seven.”