Set in Stone

by David James Warren

  He opens his mouth, maybe to ask how in the world could I lose something like the watch when Meggie moans, coming around. Art moves to her bedside. “Megs?”

  She rouses, wincing.

  I hate that this has happened to her, but I need answers.

  I wait until her she looks up at me. “Meggie, are you up to answering some questions?”

  She nods. I remember her as spunky, and some of that flashes in her eyes now.

  “My partner Burke,” I start, before I realize my faux pas. But it’s a habitual statement, so I continue. “Interviewed you. Said you saw your attacker. Can you describe him again for me? Maybe run me through the attack again?”

  As I stand there, I see another woman, bruising around her neck, her eye blackened, her soft voice telling me about how her attacker chased her, put his foot into her back to hold her down. How he kept apologizing even as he assaulted her.

  Hollie Larue. Her murder case now sits on my desk.

  But Meggie is alive, and that’s another tick on my side of the scoreboard. If we’re keeping score.

  Which you know I am.

  “I don’t remember much about the attack.” Her voice is soft, but surprisingly strong. “Just that I’d seen the news that night, and so I waited inside the diner for my Uber.”

  “You called an Uber?”

  “My car wouldn’t start—”

  “I should have junked that thing,” Art says. “I should have bought you a new one.”

  “Dad—I can take care of myself.”

  “He’ll get you a new one,” I say as I glance at Art who gives a quick nod. “Go on.”

  “I saw a car drive up, and I thought maybe it was the Uber, so I went outside. But…” She swallows, closes her eyes. “When I got closer, I realized it wasn’t so I turned to go back inside…and that’s when he got out.”

  “He got out of the car?”

  “Yeah. So, I took off for the building, but he was fast. He caught up by the time I reached the door and slammed his hand on it and grabbed me.”

  Art is looking away.

  “Art, do you need to step—” Eve starts.

  “No.”

  I don’t blame him. But Meggie might talk more freely without him. “Art. Maybe it’s easier for Meggie if you wait outside.”

  He looks at me like he’d like to turn me to cinder. But his mouth tightens, and he leans over Meggie. “I’ll be right outside.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  He doesn’t acknowledge her, and I see the doubt on his face as he walks past me.

  I understand that look.

  I’ve worn that look.

  “Then what happened, Meggie?” Eve says, when the door closes.

  “I elbowed him, and broke away from him, and just started running. I know it sounds stupid, but I couldn’t think, I just…I just ran.”

  “Did he chase you?”

  “Yes. It was dark, and late, and maybe I thought I could lose him, but he was faster. He jumped on me and got me on the ground. I was kicking, and screaming, and somehow, I’d gotten a hold of the pepper spray in my bag.” She looks at me. “I saw the news, right before I left, and I normally keep it in my car, but I thought…maybe…”

  I glance at Eve.

  “He hit me, and I nearly blacked out, then he put his hands around my throat—And that’s when I pepper-sprayed him.”

  She stops for a breath, and I can see she’s fighting back tears. Then a quick swallow and she continues. “He sort of shouted, and rolled off me, and that’s when I got up and kept running. Only this time I went back to the diner. Unfortunately, I tripped on a parking curb, but I landed right in the parking lot, in front of a couple college students.”

  “Is that when you broke your wrist?” Eve says.

  She nods.

  “That’s a nasty cut,” I say. “How did you get it?”

  “When he hit me. I think he wore a ring. I remember the cold on my throat—I know that sounds strange, but it keeps coming to me. It’s like, as I struggled, my brain started to disconnect, to dissect everything. The smell of him—”

  “You remember how he smelled?”

  “Yeah. It was…like soiled, you know? Like old gym clothes.”

  I remember Hollie Larue saying the same thing. Details, it’s always the little details.

  “Meggie, do you remember him talking? Saying anything?” Like, apologizing as he was hurting her? I want to ask, but I don’t want to skew her testimony. Still, I’m hoping—

  She looks at me, and slowly nods. “Yeah, actually. After he hit me, he cursed, as if he was angry that he’d done it. And when he put his hands around my neck, he was sort of, almost whimpering. Like it hurt him, too. And he kept saying, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ And that I should be quiet.”

  Eve is looking at me but I don’t surrender to her gaze.

  Because I got that from Hollie, too, in a timeline Eve will never know.

  “Do you remember what his ring looked like?”

  She shakes her head. “But I do remember what he looks like. He’s tall. And muscular. He was wearing a baseball cap at the diner, but I think he has blonde hair. I remember waiting on him, although, I don’t remember the smell. Or the ring. He did leave me a tip, though. A twenty-dollar bill.”

  Burke is nodding, his mouth a grim line.

  “It had words on it—Thank you for your service.”

  The one detail we left out of the news article.

  I glance at Eve. “Do you think we could get a sketch artist in here?”

  She nods.

  “Thank you, Meggie,” I say, and motion for Burke to join me outside.

  He follows me, as does Eve. I look at them. “We’ve thought he was an athlete for a while, but maybe that’s why he chases them. He likes the competition. But, why the apology?”

  “Maybe he was raised with a militant sense of right and wrong,” Burke says.

  “Conservative? Religious?”

  “Could be why he tips them,” Eve says.

  “He was also in the military,” Burke adds, a tidbit he probably doesn’t like, given his service record.

  “Yeah, but before or after he started killing?” I’m thinking of the bodies in my backyard. I turn to Eve. “I need shots of that crime scene, but especially her wound. I’d like to know what kind of ring might leave that type of mark.”

  Eve pulls out her phone and walks away from us.

  I turn to Burke. “The smell. I know that smell. Makes me think of Quincy’s. And the way my gear smells after a week of sweating in it.”

  “You think this guy wears his old gym clothes when he’s hunting?”

  “Could be part of his ritual. Signify something he’s trying to recreate, maybe. Let’s get a hold of all the boxing gyms in the area and run the tattoo and the sketch we get through their database, see if we get any hits.”

  Burke nods. “Good call on the article.”

  “We’ll see if Vega agrees.”

  “Shelby will be so jealous.” He winks.

  “I’ll bet.” I see Art leaning against the wall, his back to me and walk over to him. “Hey, Art.”

  He swallows and runs his finger and thumb across his eyes before he turns.

  “How you doing?”

  He shakes his head. But draws in a breath, and again glances at my wrist. “How’d you lose it?”

  “Time glitch. The guy who gave it to me—”

  “Chief Booker.”

  Wow, he has a good memory. “Yeah. He died before he could hand it over to me.”

  “So, it’s gone.”

  I lift a shoulder. “I don’t know. It could be buried with him.”

  He looks down the hall, past me, then back. “You changed this. Something.”

  I nod.

  “She was dead before.”

  Again.

  “I should be grateful.”

  I lift a shoulder. “I don’t know. I can’t help but feel like somehow, by my going to you in the first
place—”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Everything you do, or did, has ramifications. A butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazon, and a storm ravages half of Europe. Edward Lorenz, the butterfly effect. You can’t predict—or be blamed for what happened.”

  His words should give me relief, but I’m staring at the ravages of my choices in his broken face, so I’ve got nothing. But I have questions, and he’s the only one who might have answers. So, “Art, I have a problem. I’m recalling things I don’t remember. Memories I shouldn’t have. It’s like my brain is divided.”

  He nods. “Remember what I said about your consciousness traveling outside time when you chronothize? Your brain is starting to sync with the memories you’ve created in this overwrite. Eventually, these new memories will take over.”

  His words have me by the throat. “I could forget my daughter?”

  “The daughter you left behind in your first timeline.”

  The only daughter I remember.

  I refuse to forget Ashley, even if I’m the only one. But without the watch, my only hope is to fix what I started, and live with what remains. I push the weight of that from mind. For now.

  “I have another problem. My boss—John Booker—changed something. He went back in my timeline and found my brother’s murderer…and everyone else remembers a different history. But shouldn’t I remember this, too?”

  “Yes. And you will, in time.”

  I can’t seem to get it out of my head … this image of Booker sitting in my-slash-his office, telling me about the one absolute; to not mess with time. I ignored him.

  Art looks me in the eye. “Don’t beat yourself up, Inspector. Just…find this guy. Stop him. And pray you don’t need that watch ever again.”

  Then he says the words that send the chill down my spine. “Stay Stalwart, Inspector.”

  Stalwart. The word on the back of Booker’s watch. I swallow, but nod.

  We both might need those words more than ever. He heads back to Meggie’s room as Eve returns.

  “Remember what you said about Florida?” She wears a smile that looks like trouble.

  Uh oh. I haven’t a clue, but I nod anyway.

  “Maybe we need to pay a visit to Leo Fitzgerald’s mother.”

  Right. That. “Do you know where she is?”

  She smiles. “I have friends in Florida, remember?”

  Not even a little. But I’m in. “Book us flights.”

  Besides, I’m ready to find out what happened in Florida, aren’t you?

  12

  There’s a tight band around my chest I’m trying to ignore as Eve and I board our flight to Miami.

  Truth is, Art’s words are looping through my mind, like a song, over and over, and it has me in a knot. Pray you don’t need that watch ever again.

  I’m not going to panic. But he’s right.

  As soon as I started to time travel, life was no longer fixed in place.

  Outcomes could be changed.

  Lives repaired, and a better—happier—ending at my fingertips.

  In theory.

  Now, I have to live with what I get, just like everyone else.

  Eve and I are traveling light. Her contacts in Miami (and no, I’m not asking too many questions, yet), dug up Helen Fitzgerald’s address at a residential care facility outside the city. I called to confirm, but I didn’t talk to her.

  I don’t want to spook her.

  We’re close, I can feel it in my bones.

  I have no recollection of ever being in Miami. We took a trip to Hawaii for our fifth anniversary, so I’ve seen the ocean before, but as we angle over the city, I’m caught by the massive expanse of water along the shore, so much blue, extending to the horizon.

  Having grown up near a lake, I’m not afraid of the water. But there’s a part of me that is mesmerized by what lies beneath. I suppose it’s that same part of me that decided traveling back in time might be a good idea. What did Eve call it—reckless?

  Maybe. But that was then.

  Now, I’m smarter, right? (Don’t answer that, thanks).

  I do feel about twenty-eight when I discover Eve has rented a Corvette convertible for our quick tour through Miami. I put the top down in the parking garage while she pulls up her GPS to the Cyprus Gardens Senior Care Center.

  She looks over at me. “Miss that Camaro, don’t you?”

  “And my Porsche.”

  “Right. You were born for speed.”

  I don’t know why, but I have urge to flex as I pull out of the garage, my sunglasses on, the hot wind in my hair. The air is heavy, filled with the lure of palm trees and beach even as I move toward the highway.

  Like me, Eve is wearing her office clothes, but I notice she’s pulled off her shoes, leaving her feet bare. Her hair is wild and free, and she leans back and closes her eyes.

  I wonder just how much she loved Miami.

  Her phone rings just as I hit the on ramp to I-95.

  “Stay on this for twenty-four miles.” She answers the phone. “Director Stone here.”

  I miss the manual transmission as I dart in and out of traffic. Eve covers one ear as she talks. I hear her mention the tattoo we sent out statewide. Then, “Yes. We’ll be right there.”

  She looks at me and motions toward the next exit. I get over as she hangs up. “That was Val,” she says, like I know exactly who she’s talking about. “The tattoo turned up a hit. A guy matching Fitzgerald’s description works for a trucking company based out of the harbor. All their employees have to have a background check, and their file is kept in our—rather, the Miami Police Department database.”

  “Seriously?” I take the exit but pull over at the first gas station.

  “Yeah,” she says, the sky glinting off her sunglasses, bright and sunny. “And what’s better, he’s supposed to be coming in from a run tonight.”

  Tonight. I do the math— “Wait. Are you saying he’s on the road?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The math doesn’t work, does it? Because Fitzgerald is supposed to be in Minnesota, cooling off after his crime.

  More, if Meggie slathered him with pepper spray, odds are he wouldn’t be driving anytime soon.

  Still, it’s worth a look. “Where to?”

  “Val says to meet him at his office.”

  Him.

  Now, you thought Val was a woman, didn’t you? Me too.

  “Super,” I say.

  She pulls up the directions and we navigate to the police station while my brain conjures up all sorts of Val-related questions.

  Was Val her partner?

  Was Val the one she tried falling for?

  Was Val the reason she came home? (And the answer to that is no. She came home for me, remember?)

  I know these aren’t the answers we came for, but I can’t help it.

  I’m an investigator, and Eve is suddenly a mystery to me.

  The Miami Police Department headquarters is located downtown in a massive concrete and glass structure surrounded by palm trees. We park in a nearby lot and I follow Eve into the lobby. It’s all black tile and sleek lines and I can’t help but compare it to the stately and ornate Romanesque fortress that is our City Hall.

  But maybe that’s the way they are down here. Flashy and slick. With guys named Val and Sonny and Rico. With fast cars and sleek boats and tans—

  I feel a little overdressed in my suit as I hang back and wait for Eve’s…friend.

  Admittedly, I’m expecting white parachute pants, a collarless shirt and Ray-Bans, but Val shows up out of the elevator wearing suit pants and a white shirt, rolled up past his elbows, a stark contrast to his dark skin. He’s handsome, wears his hair short to his scalp, and is bigger than me. Not that that bothers me. Really.

  He possesses a sort of confidence about him that’s supposed to tell me he has nothing to prove. But he’s not wearing a ring and he’s just a little too friendly with ‘his girl Eve, whatdoyaknow’ who he pulls into a tight hug and
kisses on her cheek.

  Okayyyyy.

  “And Rembrandt,” he holds out his hand, still friendly and maybe it’s me who has something to prove. “Detective Valentine Castillo, I’m sure you remember.”

  I don’t, but I meet his eyes. She’s my girl, not yours, I say with mine.

  He smiles, nods and the game is on.

  Listen, I know how it sounds, but that’s just the way it is. Eve is the prize, and although I’ve won, I have a feeling there are coups yet uncounted.

  “Listen, I found your guy, and I talked with the dispatcher. He’s due to come in tonight around eight. He had a short haul from Atlanta today.”

  “Did he start in Atlanta?” Because I’m still doing math.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “It’s only about ten hours on the turnpike.”

  So he could have gotten on a flight, landed in Atlanta and ended up tonight in Miami.

  Where we wouldn’t think to look for him.

  For twenty-four years?

  I check my watch. It’s nearly six p.m.

  “I figure we’ll head over there in an hour or so, stake it out, and see if we can catch him.” He looks at Eve. “Hungry?”

  “Chef Creole?”

  “I know you love your conch fritters.”

  “And fresh slaw?”

  She says it slow, the syllables drawn out, the ending more of an “ow,” and I can’t contain a look of horror because she just winks at me.

  What is going on?

  Val swings his keys around his finger as we head back out into the sun. It’s low, its long dusky fingers threading through the buildings. I’d like to take the Corvette, but apparently, we’re taking his car.

  Appropriately, a Dodge Charger. Yeah, well, I’ve got two more cylinders and 650 horses under the hood of my, um, rental.

  He opens Eve’s door and pushes back the seat of his two-door. Waits.

  I climb inside.

  “Rem—I’ll sit in back—” Eve starts but I just hold up my hand.

  I’ll sit back here. Someone just turn up the air conditioning. I’m already sweltering.

  Val wears a gold bracelet on his wrist. As he pulls out into the city, he turns off the hip hop on his radio. “Eve and I used to hit up this place for lunch.” He glances over at Eve. “An alternative to donuts, right?”

  She laughs, almost a giggle.