Time Lost

by C. B. Lewis

  If anyone asked him how he got to work that day, he knew he wouldn’t be able to tell them. Even after stopping for a coffee from a café, the world moved around him in a haze. The caffeine was just starting to kick in as he plodded up the steps into the TRI lobby, yawning.

  For once, the reception desk was empty, which was unusual. Security insisted it was always manned to grant access to visitors and people who happened to forget their pass in the pocket of their other coat.

  Kit peered around, frowning, and spotted Paulina Borowska in the waiting room, talking to someone.

  He meandered over and tapped on the doorframe. The sun was breaking in the window of the room, glorious and bright and not good when it hit anyone right in the face. He squinted in at her. “Morning, Lina,” he said. “Permission to enter?”

  Paulina took one look at him and winced. She was always the first to see him, and she could always tell when his bed had gone neglected again. For once, she didn’t say anything. Instead, she gave a little jerk of her head toward the man sitting in one of the broad armchairs.

  “Actually, this is good timing,” she said. “You can escort DI Ofori up to see Mrs. Ashraf. She’ll be in the conference room on the tenth floor.”

  Kit blinked at her, then looked at the man, who got up.

  Tall. Broad shouldered. Dark eyes with creases around them when he smiled. Small smile. No teeth showing. Dark skin. Dark hair with salt-and-pepper silver. Little beard. Far too good-looking for so early in the morning. Holding out a hand to shake.

  Kit reached out blankly and clasped the man’s hand. “Well, bugger me….”

  Paulina tried to smother a shocked laugh.

  Caffeine and panic hit in one fell swoop.

  Kit could feel the man’s hand against his, broad and warm, and he could see surprise in his eyes.

  “Um.” He shot an urgent look at Paulina. “Lina, did I just say that out loud?”

  She had one hand at her mouth, and nodded once.

  Kit swallowed hard, looking back at the man. Whose hand he was still holding like a bloody great tit. “Good morning!” He shook the man’s hand forcefully up and down a couple of times. “I meant to say good morning.”

  The creases around the man’s eyes deepened, and his smile showed a glimpse of even, white teeth. “I’m not about to look a gift compliment in the mouth,” he said as Kit pulled his hand back. He glanced at Paulina. “Do I need to sign anything else?”

  “No.” Paulina’s voice was still choked. Kit couldn’t bring himself to look at her, in case she started giggling. “You’re good. I’ll buzz you both through to the elevator.”

  Kit tucked the shoebox under his arm and kept his eyes ahead. He knew the blush had accelerated past pink and was heading straight for magenta. He could feel the heat radiating from his face, and that never looked good with his ginger hair on top.

  “This way,” he said, not even pausing to check if the man was following.

  It wasn’t until he got to the elevator that Paulina’s words sank in. DI.

  Kit stared at his reflection in the polished doors of the elevator in horror.

  A policeman.

  He had just said that to a policeman. Probably the policeman who had come to investigate his boss’s disappearance. Of all the times to put his foot in his mouth, he had really picked a great one. The policeman came and stood alongside him, his hands folded behind his back.

  “Sorry.”

  The policeman’s reflection glanced at him. “Pardon?”

  “For what I said there.” Kit shifted his feet. “Late night. Not enough coffee.”

  DI Ofori laughed. It was a pleasant, deep sound that seemed to come from the bottom of his chest. “Don’t worry. I’ve heard a lot worse. Usually much more offensive as well.”

  The elevator doors took forever to open and Kit hurtled in as soon as they did, claiming the corner of the lift and hugging the shoebox against his chest with one arm and clinging to the handrail with the other.

  It wasn’t enclosed spaces he disliked. It was the potential for the suspension cables to snap—which he knew was ridiculous, as he’d checked them himself when no one was looking—and being aware of the exact velocity and drop that would result in sticky, squishy death.

  The policeman leaned back against one of the rails that ran around the walls, hands braced on it. He looked completely at ease. Kit tried to mimic his relaxed stance, wondering if his blush had faded at all. A glance at the mirrored wall assured him that no, he was still a vivid shade between tomato and peach.

  “So you work here, then?” Ofori said as the elevator started moving.

  Kit blinked, forcing his attention back to the man. He could distantly remember Hamid’s warnings about what he could and couldn’t say if the police asked him anything. Most of it came down to not mentioning time travel. Which, of course, was the bloody great elephant in the lift.

  In a panic, he blurted out, “I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition.”

  DI Ofori’s eyebrows rose. “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.”

  Kit’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “What?”

  The policeman’s lips twitched, but he shook his head. “Never mind.”

  Kit hesitated. There were programs his mother had shown him when he was a kid, and he had to say something. “When you didn’t even bring out the comfy chair? You call that a Spanish Inquisition?”

  To his surprise and delight, the policeman actually snorted in amusement. Some people didn’t appreciate the classics, but it looked like the—dammit, why did he have to be good-looking as well?—man in front of him did.

  Ofori flashed that glimpse of a smile again. “Aren’t you a little young to know about Monty Python?”

  Kit knew he should have paused, thought, considered his words, but he’d already made a spectacular tit of himself. There was no further to sink. “Well, aren’t you a little good-looking to be a police officer?”

  The small smile widened. Dimples cut furrows in the man’s cheeks. “Touché.”

  Kit couldn’t help grinning. Maybe he was meant to be representing the TRI, but a handsome man with dimples, broad shoulders, and knowledge of Monty Python was smiling at him. He forced his hand off the handrail and held it out. “Maybe we can try that first impression thing again. Christopher Rafferty. Kit. Most people call me Kit.”

  “Jacob Ofori.” Ofori’s hand was cool from resting on the metal rail. “Detective Inspector.”

  “That just means you get out of wearing a uniform, doesn’t it?”

  To Kit’s delight, the man actually laughed again. “My superiors haven’t realized that’s my game.” He looked up at the numbers flicking above the door. “You been working here long?”

  Kit shook his head. “Coming up on three years.” He could almost hear Hamid yelling in his ear. Keep it casual and the information minimal. No details about the role. Just generic facts that could be applied to any office anywhere. “Feels like longer.”

  Ofori was leaning back against the rail again. “Tough job?”

  Kit shrugged. “I just deal with the machines.” He made a face. “Hardly last any time these days. They keep a few of us in house to keep things patched up. Can’t have business grinding to a halt because of a loose wire.”

  “Mm.” Ofori straightened up as the elevator slowed on the tenth floor. “Our stop?”

  There were another five levels above it as well. The ones below ground never showed up on the public elevators. That was where all the chambers used for temporal jumps were hidden, and so far, no member of the public had ever accidentally stumbled on them.

  “This is us.” Kit pressed his hand to the sensor panel. It scanned his fingerprints, and the door slid open.

  He didn’t know if he was more relieved or disappointed that Mariam was already there, waiting for them. Paulina had probably called up to warn her after seeing him making a fool of himself. They’d probably expected him to spill half the TRI’s secrets before they even
hit the fourth floor.

  “Detective Inspector.” Mariam held out her hand.

  “Mrs. Ashraf.” Ofori took it.

  Kit’s eyes flicked between them. The change in the atmosphere was palpable, as if the temperature had dropped. Ofori’s smile had vanished. Mariam looked just as grim. They were sizing each other up, taking each other’s measure.

  Secrets, Kit thought, watching them. They both knew something the other wanted to know, but weren’t willing to show all their cards yet. The last thing he needed was to be caught up in the politics of it all.

  He cleared his throat. “Mariam?”

  She looked sharply at him. “Mr. Rafferty?”

  He held out the shoebox. “Hamid said that Ben’s staying with you just now. I thought he might need something to distract him.”

  She took the box, clearly surprised, and opened the lid. For a moment, the icy professional facade cracked enough to show a brief smile. “He’ll love it,” she said as she replaced the lid. “I’ll give it to him later.”

  Kit nodded. “I’ll head back down, then.” He glanced at DI Ofori. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  Ofori nodded, and though he didn’t smile, the lines around his eyes deepened just a little. “Likewise, Mr. Rafferty.”

  The elevator was still open. Kit backed into it and swiped his hand over the control again, touching the console to take him down to level seven. It was only three floors. That was okay without company.

  As soon as the doors closed, he sagged against the rail, releasing a noisy breath.

  That, he thought, was not how he had expected his morning to go.

  On the whole, mortal embarrassment aside, it could have been worse.

  Chapter 5

  MARIAM ASHRAF’S office was neat and orderly.

  There wasn’t a single paper out of place on her desk.

  Jacob knew from one look that it was not normally the case. No office with so many files and papers stacked in boxes by one wall was ever going to be so tidy. It had been arranged to ensure that nothing incriminating was left lying around where some old plod could catch a glimpse of it.

  Mrs. Ashraf ushered him in. The door slid closed behind him.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Detective Inspector,” she said.

  There was a broad desk, old-fashioned and sturdy. Mrs. Ashraf circled behind it, putting her back to the wall. She set the shoebox from Rafferty on the desktop and motioned to the seat opposite her. Jacob sat, leaning back, his stance informal, his expression placid.

  This was her ground. She was already on edge, and the last thing he needed was to push her even more on the defensive.

  “How’s Ben?”

  She folded her hands together in front of her on the desk. “Worried. We all are.” Her dark eyes met his. “Do you have any news for us?”

  “No good news, I’m afraid.” Jacob withdrew his slate from his pocket. “There was a fatality at the house. We believe it was one of Mr. Sanders’s attackers.” He hesitated. “Would you mind taking a look, to see if you can provide a name?”

  Mrs. Ashraf’s lips thinned to a line, and she looked a little paler, but she nodded.

  Jacob passed the slate with the image of the man’s face across the desk.

  Thankfully, Danni had restrained herself long enough to take the photographs before she removed the synthetic eyeball. The last time Jacob had looked in on her the night before, the man’s eyelid was peeled back from an empty, gaping socket. Disconnected wires snaked out of it like something from a horror film. Danni had laughed herself silly when Jacob was sick in one of the sinks.

  Mrs. Ashraf stared at the man’s face for a few moments. “I don’t recognize him.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded grimly. “Believe me, if I could tell you who this man was, I would.” She pushed the slate back across the desk to him. “You don’t have anything on him?”

  “Not yet, but no one just springs out of thin air.”

  Mrs. Ashraf’s eyes flicked back to the slate. “No. I suppose they don’t.” She sat back, rubbing her eyes with one hand. Jacob could sympathize.

  He leaned forward, propping his forearms on his knees. “Mrs. Ashraf, I know this is a difficult time, but I need to ask you some questions about Mr. Sanders. We need to know as much about him and events in his life as we can, if we’re to find him.”

  The woman lowered her hand. “Of course.”

  There were the standard work questions first: Sanders’s role, how long he had been there, all stuff that they knew from online records but needed confirmed, to ensure all the data was still accurate. Nothing new there.

  Personal history was more difficult.

  Mariam Ashraf was listed as the next of kin on all records.

  According to the available records, Sanders’s father was deceased, his mother was in a care home, and he had no other living relatives, except his son. There was mention of a wife, and paperwork that indicated she had died, but the details were hazy.

  “We were informed that Mr. Sanders has been signed off from work for some time.” Jacob tried to keep his tone light. Any friction within the workplace could be a reason for the attack on him. “There were health grounds, I believe?”

  Mrs. Ashraf glanced at the shoebox. Whatever was inside was a gift for Ben. “Tom’s life is divided between two things: his son and his work. He used to split his time between them, and when Tom was here, Ben would stay with his grandmother.”

  “Catherine Sanders.” Jacob recalled the record. “She’s currently in a care home, isn’t she?”

  Mrs. Ashraf nodded. “She had a fall less than two months ago and needed full-time care. That’s where the problems started. Tom tried to maintain his usual level of work while also being a full-time father. He was working himself too hard, not sleeping, not eating well enough.” She shrugged helplessly. “A wire can only be stretched so far before it gives way.”

  Jacob sat back a little way. “Especially when he was widowed.”

  Mrs. Ashraf was good, but once more, there was that subtle flicker in her expression. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for him to know that it was an avenue worth pursuing. “I never knew his wife. He lost her when Ben was only a baby.”

  Jacob laced his fingers together. “Do you know what happened to her? Unfortunately, the records aren’t very clear.”

  Mrs. Ashraf tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, watching the tips whiten. “He didn’t really talk about it,” she finally said. “As far as I understand it, she was traveling. Business or something. There was an accident. She never came home.” Her eyes returned to Jacob’s. “Presumed dead was the term used. They never found a body.”

  Jacob leaned back in the chair. Well, wasn’t that interesting? Both husband and wife disappearing without a trace. “And this was never reported to the British police?”

  “If you have no information on it, I assume not.” Mrs. Ashraf’s expression was unreadable. “As I said, Tom didn’t talk about it, and it happened before I ever met the man.”

  “Is there anyone who might know more about it?”

  The woman’s lips pressed together. “I don’t see how raking up the death of his wife seven years ago can help, when Tom is missing now. How can confirming how Olivia died help anything now? She’s dead. He may still be alive.”

  Olivia, Jacob noted. First-name terms for a woman she claimed never to have met.

  “We have to look at all angles,” he said, “especially when there are similarities in the cases.”

  “Similarities?” She frowned. “She wasn’t attacked in her home.”

  “No,” Jacob agreed, “but she did disappear in suspicious circumstances.”

  Mrs. Ashraf rose from behind the desk, walking over to the window to look out on the city. “You think Olivia was abducted?” There was a strange cadence to her voice. Jacob couldn’t decide if it was just shock or if she was worried. “Do you think the same people were involved?”

  He ta
pped the balls of his thumbs together. “It’s all conjecture at the moment, but it does strike me as strangely coincidental. If you could tell me exactly what Mr. Sanders does here, whether his wife was involved in similar scientific engineering….”

  Mrs. Ashraf was quiet for several minutes. “I don’t know what his wife did, but Tom designed machines to assist us in our research.” She turned back from the window to face him. “He found a way of mapping out historical anomalies and patterns in the chaos. I’ve never seen science or engineering like it.”

  Jacob reached for his slate, opening up the images of Sanders’s board from the house again. “So this could be developments of a similar kind?”

  The woman returned to the desk and took the offered slate. “Knowing Tom? It could be anything.”

  “Would anyone want to get ahold of it?”

  She scaled up the image, studying it, a frown furrowing her brow. “Unless they wanted to do similar historical research, I doubt it.” She looked at him. “Tom was a scientist above everything, Detective Inspector. This could easily have been the start of an algorithm to find the best school for his son. I could have some of my technicians look at it, to see if they can work out what it is.”

  Jacob put on his benevolent smile. “That would be incredibly useful.”

  Perhaps she was trying to be helpful, but the suspicious bastard side of him didn’t believe it. She wanted to know what that board said as much as he did. It wasn’t anything to do with Ben or schools. She said herself that Sanders was working all the time. Whatever was on that board was to do with his work, and she wanted it.

  Mrs. Ashraf smiled in return. “If you could forward on a copy, I’ll pass it on to the relevant team.”

  “Why wait?” Jacob rose. “We could show them just now. See if anything jumps out.”

  He saw the brief flare of frustration on her face and wasn’t surprised.

  “They may not be able to identify it at once,” she said.

  “All the same,” Jacob countered, “it would be useful to know if this is a relevant line of inquiry, or if it can be dismissed. Perhaps call down and check? It would be best if we can whittle away the irrelevant details as soon as possible.”