Low City: Missing Persons (A Tractus Fynn Mystery Book 3)

by Alexander, MK

  “What?”

  “The banks along the Thames… don’t you see?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a simple matter to contact my bank in Amsterdam. They can wire any funds we might need.” Fynn sat on a wet crate. “Ah, but what to do until morning?”

  I reached into my tunic and pulled out the last gold ducat. It was perfectly preserved. “I was saving this as a souvenir, but…”

  Fynn raised an eyebrow. “You are a lifesaver, Patrick. With that, we have a hotel room for the night.”

  ***

  The next morning Fynn and I made our way to the bank. “I hope I can recall my account number,” he muttered.

  “I’ll wait outside…”

  Next we found a tailor. Our new clothes were not much better to my mind, though Inspector Fynn seemed satisfied, and actually looked pretty spiffy in his new suit.

  Back in Dover, he led me to the docks and stopped at an odd little shack with a broken sign that read: La Manche Export-Import Company.

  “We wish to export ourselves to the Continent, no questions asked,” Fynn said and put a hundred pound note on the counter.

  The man grinned. “I’m not sure that’s possible, gent… but I might recommend you go fishing.”

  “Fishing?”

  “For another hundred, you might be catching French sole, if you take my meaning.”

  chapter twenty-four

  amsterdamned

  We probably landed in the same park that Anika frequented. It was dark, and without a lightning bug anywhere. I took that to be a bad sign.

  “No fireflies,” I commented.

  “Eh?” Fynn asked.

  “The vuurvliegje are missing.”

  “That’s very observant of you, Patrick.” He pointed to a small neon sign along a nearby road. Glowing blue words read: Coco Bar. My heart sank and I could feel a bit of frustration.

  “I understand coming back to Amsterdam,” I said, “but I’m not so sure how much good it will do us.”

  “To see that Anika is safe is reason enough.”

  “You’re right of course. But do you think she’ll remember us?”

  Fynn turned and gave me quite a look. It softened a bit. “We can only hope.”

  “What I mean is, we’re still in a coffee-less present… Durbin and all the policemen are dead, and so is Gary Sevens.”

  “I can only agree.”

  “So what’s next? How do we fix things?”

  “This is the most pressing question,” Fynn replied and slowed along the cobble path. “But having jumped ahead fifty-one years, we cannot know if this particular present will resemble anything you seem to expect.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’ve reset my particular history. I wasn’t abducted and locked away for twenty years after all.”

  “Right.” I stopped to think. “Will I still come searching for you?”

  “I would certainly hope so… And I trust you have the awareness of how to proceed?”

  “From here?”

  “You might think of it as Gary Seven’s timeline.”

  “I wish you’d stop saying that,” I replied, but caught myself. “Wait. What? When are we exactly?”

  “Exactly, I cannot yet be sure. We must ask someone the date.” Fynn hesitated. “Though I will say it’s closer to October than it is to May.”

  I looked around again, there was not a soul to be seen. A dawn sky was lightening in the east.

  “You overshot our jump?”

  “It was necessary, I apologize. The chain of causality is paramount in this case… unlike jumping to nineteen sixty-four, where we were afforded some margin of error.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “Whether we returned before or after you broke into Mortimer’s villa in nineteen sixty-four mattered little.”

  “Because?”

  “We had already changed the past.”

  “You mean gaining your freedom?”

  “Yes.”

  “How is this different?”

  “It is quite necessary that you travel to Amsterdam in the first place.”

  “And on to Pavel’s apartment… Mr Q’s tower and… Do I have to live through that again?”

  “Not at all. You’re missing the point, Patrick. It is essential that we get as close to the last timeline as possible… not so much for my sake, but for yours.”

  “I’m not getting this.”

  “The items you were carrying: Mortimer’s cane, Franny’s files, and the manuscripts of course.”

  “Oh right…” I thought for a moment. “And Anika’s necklace.”

  “Yes, the chrysanthemum stone.”

  “But I lost the cane,” I reminded Fynn.

  “Well, this is something beyond your control. We must rely on the efficiency of KLM.”

  “Who?”

  “The airline. I’m sure they will return it in due course.” He smiled. “I for one am glad to know it’s gone. This cane has caused nothing but trouble for us all.”

  “So, I’ll have to do one of these special back-flip jumps?”

  “A boomerang jump, you are meaning?”

  “I guess.”

  “This is essential, a precision jump one might say.”

  “Why?”

  “You must soft jump back to exactly the day you arrived in Amsterdam.”

  “As Patrick, not Gary.”

  “Indeed… and carrying with you the things I mentioned.”

  “No coffee, right…”

  “Not a drop.”

  “And you? Won’t you be a ghost?”

  “Yes… as you say. It can’t be helped.”

  “Could you rebuild your concurrency here?”

  “Such is not an option for me.”

  “I’m not sure this is the best plan.”

  “Can you say where you were after the thirtieth of May?” Fynn asked.

  “Hmm, Pavel’s apartment, or trapped in the tower with Mr Q and Lothar.”

  “How unfortunate. Luckily, you are here this time in a different place.” He chuckled. “No, it’s best that we both jump back to the very day you arrived in Amsterdam… For you, a soft jump. For me, I expect it will be a hard jump.” Fynn gave me a tired smile. “And honestly, Patrick, I feel quite depleted. I need just a few days of rest and relaxation.”

  We continued along the canal and passed an electronics store announcing the date and time with a scrolling light: 3, September. Fynn started across a canal bridge, but stopped at the center of the arch. He started fiddling with his astrolabe. I thought we were going to jump from here and looked down into the gray-black water below, sloshing and rippling.

  “It’s pretty far down.”

  “Oh no, we needn’t jump from so high. We’re only going back a few months or so…” He pointed to some empty benches across the road. “And Patrick, once you do arrive, it’s best if you say nothing about Lorraine for the time being.”

  “Of course,” I replied automatically. “But shouldn’t she be in Virginia?”

  “Yes, this is your recollection. I’m not at all sure what Anika’s memory of her is… Best to proceed with caution.”

  ***

  It was a most excellent feeling. One second I was walking along the canal, and in the next, I re-entered myself. There was no need for words. I suddenly knew everything that had happened. As expected, I spotted a few ghosts flittering past the corner of my eye; and there she was: Anika standing at the front of the apartment just locking the door. When I first caught sight of her, I could feel my heart flutter a bit. I approached slowly.

  “Hello…” I called out from an appropriate distance. Anika turned and gave me a once over.

  “Hello to you,” she replied and added a friendly smile. “Where have you been, Patrick? I’ve been waiting for what seems like weeks.” She rushed over and gave me an intimate hug.

  “Where’s your dad?”

  “Oh, he’s upstairs having a bath. I’m sure he doesn’t wish
to be disturbed at the moment.”

  “Where are you off to?”

  “To buy some things, and I could use your company… honestly, I hate shopping by myself.”

  “Sure, where are we going?”

  “I have to get father some new clothes.”

  We passed by the ill-fated block of apartments with a police cordon still in place. Anika reminded me about her dead neighbors and the impossibility of such violence. A diplomat fallen from his balcony; a child molester beaten to death. And three other people murdered in a lover’s quarrel— all in the space of a week.

  ***

  Inspector Fynn greeted us at the door and took the bags from Anika. He had at least trimmed his beard to twenty-first century norms.

  “There you are, Patrick,” Fynn said. “It seems like days have passed. Then again, perhaps I was a bit early in arriving.”

  Anika gave her father a hug and a kiss, and then me. “Well now, my two favorite men in all the world together in one place.” She walked into the first floor parlor and plopped down on the sofa. “So, tell me, how was the party?”

  “Dangerous,” I kidded. “And full of strange characters.”

  “Really?”

  “It was a costume party after all.”

  “Well, I am sorry I missed it.” She laughed.

  “And we’re sorry to be so late in arriving, my dear,” Fynn said and sat in a nearby chair. “A few complications on our return and a difficult crossing.”

  “Rough seas?” Anika asked.

  “Rough characters is closer to the truth. The weather was calm, thankfully.” Fynn smiled. “And what news do you have, my darling?”

  “Me? None really… I woke up in the park as usual… a week ago, maybe? Everything seems as it should be.” She smiled easily. “Oh, KLM has just telephoned with sincere apologies.”

  “So where is the cane?”

  “On its way back from Jakarta, last I heard. How it ended up there is anyone’s guess.”

  “How curious…” Fynn said then paused. “Anika dear, I need a favor. I’ll be wanting a current passport and driver’s license. Is that something you’re able to obtain, my darling daughter?”

  “Shouldn’t be much of a problem,” Anika replied a bit hesitantly. “But it’s a rather expensive undertaking these days.”

  “Well, I must stroll down to the bank anyway. I’ll get you some money.”

  “Are you fit for such a walk?”

  “Of course, it will do me good. There are a few things in the box I’ll need: my old badge and warrant card— surely they are still there… I’ll also deposit the manuscripts for safe keeping.” Fynn turned his glance to me. I started rummaging through my carry- on.

  “It sounds like you’re up to something, father.”

  “You know me too well,” he said with a laugh.

  I found the musty manuscripts in the bag and handed them to Fynn. “I still don’t understand how these are here in this present.”

  “It makes perfect sense, Patrick. I will soon travel back and give one to Lorraine,” the inspector said as if it were obvious. “The past changes the present— eh?”

  “Where is mother? In Sand City?” Anika asked.

  “No, my dear… she’s at the farm in Virginia,” Fynn replied gently.

  “Oh… well, we should pay her a visit, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, at the first opportunity… she’d be very pleased to see us both.”

  I put Franny’s thick file on the table. Fynn’s eyes went there as well. “Ah, looks like I have some reading to do.” He glanced at me expectantly. “And the kiku-ishi?”

  “Oh right…” I searched again and handed him the necklace.

  Fynn split it apart and removed a key, then presented the gem to his daughter. “For you, a gift from the past.”

  “Thank you, father… I thought I’d lost it.” Anika snapped the chain around her neck.

  “I’m happy to see you wear it, my dear. It looks lovely on you.”

  I was still rummaging through my bag. Something else was missing. “Okay, this really freaks me out,” I blurted.

  Anika and Fynn stared at me.

  “Oh… I had a deck of tarot cards in here and now they’re completely gone. Weird, right?” I kept looking and found but a single card under some socks. I held it up: the Two of Swords. It showed a seated woman, blindfolded; with her arms across her breast, she held two swords aloft.

  ***

  Later that night, Anika snuggled up close to me. “Well, one bit of good news, I suppose,” she said. “Since my return I’ve completely given up sleepwalking.”

  “Is that what you call sneaking into my room at night?”

  Anika laughed and hit me with a pillow. “No, I mean to say I’m cured. I no longer have any desire to return to the nineteen sixties. Perhaps desire is the wrong word… I feel no compulsion. If I do return, it will simply be for the fun of it.”

  ***

  Over the next few days, Fynn had cleaned himself up with a shave and a haircut, and was looking exactly as I knew him, though maybe a bit defeated and especially sad around the eyes. He seemed to have trouble bringing his usual smile to bear. Anika took me aside in the hall one morning. “I’m terribly worried about father, Patrick. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in such a sorry state.”

  “He’s been through a lot.”

  “I suppose, but he won’t talk about it to me.” Anika pouted. “What happened to him?”

  “An ordeal, let’s say. Give him some time, he’ll recover.”

  “You say that, but I’ve never seen him so despondent. He barely eats his breakfast and sits in the study all day reading newspapers. He’s never done that before.”

  “I know he’s happy that you’ve gone back to school.”

  “Is he? How do you know?”

  “He told me.”

  A smile crossed Anika’s face. “Well, I may have an idea then…” She walked across the room and called out, “Father… you’ll never guess who I ran into at University the other day.”

  “Who’s that, my dear?” Fynn asked pleasantly and put his paper aside.

  “Detective Sergeant Wilke— surely you remember him?”

  “I do indeed. My old partner from twenty-five years ago.”

  “No… I am meaning his son, Sergeant Wilke Junior.”

  “What?”

  “A fine up-and-coming officer… He’s been asking about you.”

  Fynn turned to face his daughter. “What was he doing at the University?”

  “Looking for me.”

  “You? I hope you’re not dating a policeman. We’ve spoken about this many times…”

  “Well, he’s very nice and rather handsome.”

  “Last I recall, he was a small lad of five or six.” Fynn buried himself in his newspaper again.

  “Well, he did tell me that there’s a terrible backlog at the district. This spate of murders in our very own neighborhood. They need your help.”

  “I’m retired.”

  “I think it’s just the thing you need to recuperate,” Anika chided. “The perfect sort of puzzle for you.” She glanced over to me. I smiled and agreed.

  “Hardly worth my attention…” Fynn said rather dismissively and went back to his paper.

  “Well, I’ve heard tell one of the crimes is a locked door mystery. It seems this Russian mobster was found in his room with the key inside his pocket. That’s just the sort of puzzle you enjoy, eh?”

  “A locked door mystery?” Fynn asked. “Alright, that is mildly interesting. But they are usually no mystery at all, only the product of poor observation or bad forensics.”

  Anika shrugged, but the seed had been planted.

  ***

  The next morning Fynn was gone by the time I came in and sat for breakfast.

  “Where is he?”

  Anika came over excitedly and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “My devious plan has worked. I think he’s visiting crime scenes
today and looking over the reports.”

  Fynn returned in the evening and his mood seemed much improved. He sat in his favorite chair and poured a large scotch. Anika sprawled along the sofa on her elbows, and I found a comfortable ottoman.

  “I may be traveling tomorrow,” he announced and took a long sip. “By myself.”

  “Where are you off to, father?”

  “A case, of course. A fellow by the name of Durbin, he needs some help… and a few other loose ends here and there.” Fynn smiled. “I will call you both to join me in a few days or a week. You’ll be ready— eh?”

  We both nodded.

  “What about helping Sergeant Wilke? The five murders in the neighborhood?” Anika asked.

  “They have nothing to do with where I’m going, my dear.”

  “I didn’t suppose that. But I thought you were going to lend a hand at your old precinct.”

  “Oh, I’ve already done that.”

  “You solved five murders in one afternoon? And without leaving your armchair?”

  Fynn chuckled. “Of course not. I visited the crime scenes today.”

  “How did you get past the cordons?”

  “I flashed my old badge… no one paid me much attention.” Fynn paused. “In the end, I’ve concluded there were only four murders. One death was a tragic accident… quite unrelated.”

  “Not a serial killer?”

  “Of course not.” Fynn looked at us. “Three of the murders were connected, I will say. The fourth, an entirely separate affair.”

  “But five people died within a week of each other, all on the same street. I’ve already told Patrick everything I know about this sordid mess.” Anika sat up a bit. “Now you’re saying they’ve been solved? You must explain it to us.”

  “Of course… Take the first crime: The Iranian diplomat found dead on the sidewalk in the early evening hours. A leap from the balcony, an apparent suicide, no witnesses. But this was murder and rather easy to solve.”

  “How so?”

  “It is the case of a small husband with a large wife,” Fynn said and smiled. “What did you say to me, Anika, about the wife of the Iranian? I’ve never seen her wear a hijab. She seems to prefer Chanel. Clearly, his wife did him in.”