No Time Like the Present

by Ellison Blackburn

  Both officers smile knowingly.

  “You know I make stuff up, right? About my brother? Because I can, …”

  Just like with Division agents before, Archer works hard to maintain a certain level of fear and respect with his officers. My offhand comments probably do not budge this balance, but usually, I try to curb undermining his authority with personal insights.

  “Let’s just say, it’s safer for us if we assume you do,” Theo says.

  “Truer words were never spoken,” Tanner replies.

  I nod though I’m not entirely sure what the sergeants are talking about. Archer also rarely truly loses his temper. He’s too restrained for that. For most people, catching a glimpse of his bottled menace is enough to change their attitude quickly, which he uses to full advantage. I have only ever seen him get violent once when some punk broke into the house and assaulted Willow and me. It was the day our mother almost died, and I got the scar above my right eyebrow.

  I stayed conscious long enough to witness the beating the other guy took. And assuming he’s still alive somewhere in the future, that near-death experience was one he’s not likely to forget. Nor will I. Not entirely aware of my brother’s potential before, I suddenly became aware and have respected Archer his control ever since (even though I like to test the un-pushability of his buttons every so often).

  Theo, Tanner, and I walk down the corridor and turn left before the rows of waiting area chairs.

  I knew there was a good reason I was avoiding my brother today. So, he’d meant the Station’s new consultant was starting today. I shoot Dr. Ennis a tight-lipped grimace, and he nods when we enter the interview room.

  Not even bothering with the niceties, Archer says, “Seriously, Reid, what the hell were you three doing back there—having tea?”

  I pull a chair away from the other long side of the table and angle it slightly away from my brother and the doctor. “Pipe down,” I snap.

  He squints at me, his jaw tensing. With a clear view of Tanner’s profile, I catch him suddenly avert his gaze, hiding his smile.

  “What is this about? Marsh? He died of heart failure, no question,” I ask.

  “Dent?” Archer questions bluntly, as though he’s calling on his first pupil.

  “Uh, so, …” Theo begins, flipping through his trusty little black notebook. “Olive Marsh, wife of one recently deceased Reginald Marsh, mother of three sons, and a laundress by trade. Employed Saturdays and Wednesdays for the Connors of Hubbard Court. Mondays and Thursdays for the Days of Quincy Street. And Tuesdays and Fridays for the Lynchs of Marble Place.”

  “As in Jedidiah and Birdie Day?”

  “That’s right, Doc, the same Days.”

  Vale’s gaze is on me, I know it. Casually, I prop an elbow on the table and comb my hair over my ear. If I let myself think about it, I can feel his finger tracing its contours. “Your ears are downright dainty, River,” he’d said, then nipped an earlobe gently between his teeth. I sniff and clear my throat in hopes of stunting the blush climbing up my neck at this very moment and turn my seat a little more toward Theo and Tanner.

  From the corner of my eye, I notice Vale wince and sit up in his chair. I gather Archer just nudged or kicked him. “Tanner? Why don’t you give us a synopsis of the intel gathered from your interview with Olive Marsh, so Reid and Dr. Ennis get an idea of whether she’s a credible source of intelligence or not?”

  The young officer clears his throat. “Yeah, so she’s very bright, I thought. Yeah, altogether there. A bit chatty maybe considering her hus—”

  “Not her intellect, Adams. Nor am I asking your opinion of it,” Archer says curtly.

  Tanner bows his head over his notebook and jots down “intelect” followed by an equal sign with a slash through it and the word “inteligence.” Good spelling is not one of the sergeant’s most promising skills.

  Feeling sympathetic toward him, I glare disapprovingly at his chief, who obligingly rephrases: “I’m not asking for a character reference of her smarts or how well she’s holding up, Tanner. Think. What good would that do us? I’m referring to the information she provided, whether we can rely upon it or not.”

  Tanner next writes “information,” an equal sign, and then “inteligence.” Vale smiles thinly, and Archer presses a thumb and two fingers into his temples when I lean sideways and whisper for Tanner’s benefit, “A.k.a. intel for short.” The young officer’s brow furrows in consternation and a twinge in annoyance. His pencil remains poised over the paper, however. “Also. Known. As. In-tell.”

  The lightbulb of understanding flashes in his eyes, and he quickly bobs his head and adds another equal sign and the word “intel” to his notes. Tapping the pad with the tip of his pencil he continues, “So, uh, she informed us it weren’t, would not be easy without her husband as he brought in most of the household earnings. Mrs. Marsh now has three children to support on her own, though she feels they’ll manage all right if her oldest and possibly her middle boy take up regular employment to help out.” He cautiously peers up at Archer.

  “I apologize for interrupting, sergeant, but I just want to remind everyone that there was no foul play with regard to either Reginald Marsh’s or Birdie Day’s deaths. And the actual death part, after all, is usually where I come in. While I think it’s interesting—this small-world coincidence that Marsh’s wife just happens to work for the Days—where’s the case here? And more to the point, is it any of my business?” I feel the itch to escape, and I know my brother knows it. Any other time, I wouldn’t have minded sitting in on a powwow session.

  The sergeants and Ennis look to Archer to answer, but instead of replying, my brother raises an eyebrow at Sergeant Dent.

  Theo promptly says, “Mrs. Marsh made mention, Doc, that both households were expecting a baby about the same time. Said there’s been much ado in that regard for many months now.”

  “Ah. But Mrs. Day wasn’t really in the family way.”

  The sergeant bobs his ginger head. Although appearing more boyish than his best friend, Theo handles sensitive topics without the same fidgety embarrassment that afflicts Tanner. “Well, I’m not sure that’s the peculiarity we’re at a loss to explain here, Doc. See, well now, there’s a new baby in the Days’ house—”

  “We knew that too.”

  “Yes, and the Lynchs’ baby has gone missing.”

  Having successfully avoided Vale for ten minutes, I turn to look at him, and he nods once. My eyes still on his face, although I try not to focus on specific features, I say, “I suppose you’re going to tell me, sergeant, that Mrs. Day and Mrs. Lynch both had the same physician tending to them during their pregnancy—or whatever the socially correct term to use is, confinement? So during Mrs. Day’s supposed confinement?”

  Again, Vale smiles faintly and nods just the one time before saying, “Actually, medical examiner, confinement takes place during just the last few weeks, and Dr. Constantine Varga was Mrs. Day’s physician her entire term, from what I understand. I haven’t had the opportunity to confer with the Lynchs myself, but Mrs. Marsh must have mentioned the doctor by name at one point. Sergeant?”

  “Not quite, sir. Mrs. Marsh made no mention of the doctor. We learned of his involvement through roundabout means, a hunch we’ve yet to confirm. But we’re pretty sure that’s the way of it.”

  I rub my chin and then scratch a sideburn thoughtfully. “What a mess this has turned out to be.”

  “Mm,” Archer murmurs simply.

  “We have an infant at home, safe and sound with her father but whose mother can’t possibly have been hers. Then a mother and father who are missing their child. And finally, two pairs of trusting parents who seem to have been duped by a person everyone should be able to trust implicitly.”

  “That about sums it up,” Theo says precisely as Tanner says, “Well put.”

  “Reid, sure you haven’t overlooked anything?”

  What is this—apprentice detective training? Or maybe you’re a cont
estant on a game show named Take a Wild Guess. I screw up my mouth grumpily but ready the four questions I want to ask in my mind. I field my inquiries to Theo and Tanner directly. “One, when was Avis—the infant present and accounted for—born precisely? Wait, let me finish, Sergeant Dent. Two, was it the same day that Rebecca Lynch brought her babe into this world? Three, was the Lynchs’ child a girl too? And four, when did baby Lynch go missing?”

  “Avis Ann Day was born on the fifth, so three days ago, Doc,” Theo answers.

  “And yeah, the Lynchs’ babe is a girl. Hannah, she’s called. She was born on Sunday also,” Tanner says.

  The two friends look at one another, silently draw straws for my fourth question, and then bow their heads to search through their notes. Tanner flips a few pages over and taps on the pad. “Well, Doc, we can’t rightly say when she went missing for the moment. We’ve only spoken with Mrs. Marsh, and she’s just the washerwoman. She weren’t even there at the time, see? As I said, the babe was born on Sunday, and Mrs. Marsh wouldn’t have returned to the Lynchs’ for the washing ’til Tuesday afternoon.”

  I open my mouth to ask how they know the baby’s name and that she’d gone missing if they have only Mrs. Marsh’s account to go by when Theo reads my mind.

  “Seems Mrs. Marsh stayed home from work the last couple of days to nurse her husband. In the meantime, a friend, a charwoman for the Lynch household, a one Hester Robinson, paid her visit and relayed the goings-on at the house.”

  “I see.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair, Archer says, “There are a few oddities we’ll need to keep in mind going forward with this one. First, it’s possible Jed Day is involved in ways we don’t know about yet. Adams spoke with him after Reid provided the results from his wife’s autopsy. We have his written statement. Adams?”

  “Eh-hm.” Tanner clears his throat. “Well, I don’t have his statement with me, uh, written down, that is, but …” He paraphrases from his notes: “Mr. Day swore that he had no clue how his wife came to be with child.” The sergeant blushes handsomely. “Oh, uh, it weren’t clear in his mind specifically how, uh, how it is that Avis was born when Mrs. Day was, in fact, incapable of having children. And as to that, he admitted to knowing that his wife was unnaturally, uh, that she was not naturally barren—”

  “That’s fine, Tanner. You’re off the hook,” Archer says with a suppressed grin, thoroughly enjoying his sergeant’s discomfort. “Basically, Mr. Day knew his wife’s potential to conceive was medically impossible.”

  “He was told of the postmortem findings? That his wife had never been pregnant this time around?”

  “Yes, he was told. He was also informed that his paternity is now in question.” A tiny smile slides across Archer’s lips again.

  “And?”

  “And as she exhibited the outwards signs nonetheless, he’s concluded a miracle had occurred.”

  “Christ!”

  Surprising us all, Vale guffaws and then presses his knuckles to his lips to mask his amusement. “A week early, though. Easter is on the thirteenth,” he says soundly.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I say, trying my damnedest to hold back a grin. “But it would seem that God’s an equal opportunist.”

  Laughter erupts from Archer and Vale anew. Archer’s is deep and rumbling, Vale’s pure and contagious. And mine would have given me away if it weren’t for my modified cravat.

  Amidst the silliness, I don’t know how he manages it, but my brother says somberly, “I have a feeling ‘holy quadrinity’ is going to take a while to catch on.”

  “I agree, but the father, the son, the daughter, and the holy ghost might be too much of a mouthful,” Vale says, chortling.

  The three of us try unsuccessfully to reign in our mirth, which gets so much worse before it gets better, while Theo and Tanner shift uncomfortably in their seats and smirk periodically and uneasily.

  We know our jokes are in bad form, but sometimes, life is like that, and you dive into it without thinking.

  As though he has hiccups, Vale’s shoulders jerk every so often. His eyes are bright, and they twinkle, and I smile at him. For this fleeting instant, I’m happy because Archer and Vale are happy. I haven’t seen either of them laugh like that ever. Neither were ever so at ease.

  I point at Archer. “Don’t … don’t you dare smile,” I spurt. “Really. I mean it.” I shake my head and suck in a breath and then another. “Whew. Sergeant Adams, would you kindly retrieve a pitcher of water?”

  “Certainly, Doc.”

  Once we’re all calm again, Archer clears his throat for the second time and says, “I’ve spoken to the commissioner, and we’ve decided Mr. Day can keep custody of Avis for the duration of the investigation. It’s a better option than handing her over to foundling services prematurely.”

  “Mm-hmm. And that’s because it’s too soon to tell if one riddle solves the other?” I ask.

  “Precisely. And there’s another angle to keep our eye on as we progress. No one outside of this room and Dr. Constantine Varga knows that Birdie Day didn’t give birth three days ago.”

  “And Mr. Day,” Theo says.

  “But Jed Day only thinks she did, sergeant,” Vale says.

  “Right. ’Course.”

  “We haven’t spoken to Dr. Varga yet, sir.”

  “The vital organs are hard to account for when they’re just not there, Tanner. Either he was told, or after the first examination Varga would have known it was not just improbable but impossible,” I reply.

  “Oh.”

  “As I was saying, there’s a missing child who’s so far been given as much attention as a misplaced set of keys. We only came to learn of little Hannah’s disappearance because a gossipy maid mentioned it to Mrs. Marsh. The Lynchs should be devastated and desperate to find their newborn daughter, but they haven’t reported the incident yet.”

  The sergeants bob their heads vigorously.

  “Might I suggest a rationale?” Dr. Ennis asks.

  “Go on,” Archer says, turning toward the doctor.

  “A glimpse of the kind of people the Lynchs are might give us a clue.” Folding his hands on the tabletop and leaning forward, in an even studied tone, Vale as Dr. Ennis, the alienist, proceeds. “Mitchell Lynch is an ambitious and relatively well-known political figure around here. And Rebecca Lynch, as a politician’s wife, accompanies her husband to every gala, ribbon cutting, and speech, however small, with a smile on her face.

  “He’s an active member of several civic-minded committees and does not shy away from improving upon his list of causes. He has also persistently vied for a seat on the Common Council without gain. It would seem then that Mr. Lynch has adopted an ‘if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again’ strategy in the hopes of his eventual success. I have even heard he’s positioning himself to run for mayor in the next few years. All-in-all Mr. Lynch is well-liked, but I think his lack of progress has more to do with the fact that he’s just not seasoned enough more so than he’s too green. And …” He pauses and raises a finger aloft. “He’s extremely wealthy. Of course, much of that wealth was derived from his marriage to Harriet Bonifield, an heiress to a ladies’ wear empire in San Francisco. Putting these details together suggests a couple who is expectant of some kind of blackmail scheme. They have possibly hired an inquiry agent, and that person has advised them not to report their Hannah’s disappearance to the police.”

  Looking at him intently, I ask, “Or do you think it’s possible they know their blackmailer and are perhaps in the midst of private negotiations?”

  “There seems to be some connection here, but this is also well out of his usual modus operandi.”

  “Varga?” Tanner asks. “You mean Constantine Varga, yeah?”

  “Yes, sergeant,” I say, turning away from Vale.

  “We’ll have to tread lightly.”

  The high-pitched squeak of a chair scraping against the wood floor rents through th
e air. “Oi, sorry,” Theo says sheepishly.

  “It’s time we stretched our legs, anyway. After lunch, Tanner, I want you over at the Lynchs’. Like I said, don’t draw attention to yourself. Don’t talk to anyone, just observe the comings and goings of the house for the next day or two. And Theo, track down Dr. Varga and question him. Keep it light. Just about Mrs. Day for now. I want to know what he thought he was doing leading them on as he did.”

  “Sir,” both sergeants affirm in unison.

  After they leave, an awkward silence fills the room. Although just minutes ago we shared a laughing fit that eased a good deal of the tension between us, reality has returned full force. I scoot my chair back, and Archer asks, “Will you join us for lunch?”

  “I’m not hungry,” I lie softly.

  “River, you’re never not hungry,” Vale says with a pseudo grin.

  I scrape the sole of my shoe back and forth on the floor and then check for whatever is not stuck under it. “I have a prior engagement.”

  “What prior engagement?” Archer asks.

  “With Owen Carr?”

  My eyes widen at Vale’s question particularly. “That’s none of your business, Archer. Nor is it any of yours, Vale.” The breathy feel of Vale’s name passing between my lips makes me want to suck that air back into my lungs and let it sit in my chest where it’s been safely nestled for so long. I turn to leave but halt, then pull back my shoulders. Taking a few steps forward, I close the Venetian blinds and turn back around to face them. “Actually … this won’t take long, but I have something I need to get out,” I start. After a minute, I say, “I understand why you did what you did. And I know I’d have had to come to terms with the situation if we’d stayed in our own time. But we’re here.” I can hear my voice growing huskier already. I swallow hard and hesitate to collect my thoughts and steel myself as best as possible. Thankfully, neither of them try to insert themselves into what I hope will be an effective speech.

  “I also know neither of you can do anything to take back how what you did would affect me. But the fact is, it’s been a year and a half since we arrived. And I don’t need to tell you that it’s been a very, very hard year and a half.” How nice it would have been to have had some good news in the light of all we’d lost—even three months later when I was reunited with my brothers, Allen, and Selene. Forgiveness would have come in a flash. I blink back the prickle of tears, but the first one makes it over my eyelid, regardless. I smooth it away with a finger. “Before you left, Vale, for the first time since I started at the Division, I thought there was more to life than work. Accepting the reversal didn’t come easy, b-but I had Reid to help me through it th-then.”