“Anika just went inside to look for you.”
“Tell me, what day is it?”
“Sunday, June fourteenth.”
“And the year?”
“Twenty fifteen…” I looked hard at Fynn. “Are you okay?” Tears were streaming down the side of his face.
“I suppose… just a bit befuddled. I’ve only just arrived myself, I think.”
“Where were you?”
“A few errands to run.”
“Is Durbin alright?”
“Yes, completely fine.”
“What happened?”
“We went fishing. Blues and stripers.”
“What?”
“I prevented his murder.”
“Did you solve it?”
“No. He was off-duty on the day in question. We met at the marina and spent the morning on Serenity Bay aboard his boat. Ricky was also with us. Fishing, as I’ve said.”
“That’s it?”
“It seemed to be enough. I popped in and out again from time to time, poked about, but I tried to limit my contact as much as possible.”
“So you changed Gary Sevens’ timeline?”
“Such was inevitable. I can only hope that I have altered little.” Fynn smiled. “It’s a very good sign that you and Anika are here.”
“What about Sevens?”
“A different matter entirely.” Fynn made a face. “I’ll tell you inside…” He glanced around. “You mustn’t be seen of course— not here. I’ll have to distract the clerk at reception. When I do, make your way up to my usual room.”
“Okay…” I replied not completely sure what Fynn meant. “Oh hey, I brought you this… a bottle of duty-free single malt.”
“How thoughtful, thank you.” Fynn smiled when I handed him the bag.
“And I have a gift for you, Patrick.” He rummaged through his pockets and gave me a coin.
“What is it?”
“A Venetian ducat… call it a souvenir from our travels.” Fynn smiled. “And you still have the safe deposit key?”
“Yes. Do you want it back?”
“No. Keep it for now.”
I watched Fynn through the lobby windows. He greeted Anika lavishly and then spoke with the clerk. In turn, the latter disappeared into his office and I took my cue; putting up my hood and bounding up the stairs to the third floor. Fynn and Anika appeared a few minutes later.
“That Gary fellow is a very stubborn character, not at all like you, Patrick. And so skeptical…” the inspector said as he unlocked the door to the giant corner suite.
“So you met with him?”
“Last year, of course, several times. Everything was as it should be— for him at least.”
“What about now?”
“Sorry to say, he’s still dead.”
“I thought you were going to fix this?”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Why not?”
“While it is tempting to think your doppelgänger’s death has some diabolical motivation behind it, we are left with the fact that it looks to be rather prosaic.”
“What do you mean?”
“The police seem to think Gary Sevens’ death was accidental.”
“No. It’s too much of a coincidence to be just a coincidence.”
Fynn laughed. “Well, the police disagree, though I will say nothing until I read the reports. It may well be a suicide.”
“You have a lot to tell us, don’t you?”
“I do, but it must wait for the moment.”
“Good,” Anika said, “I’m going to take a nice long shower, if you don’t mind.”
“Ah, but you cannot.”
“What? Is there something wrong with the hot water?”
“No,” Fynn said, and at that, there was a loud knock. “We have a guest it seems… Patrick, you must hide yourself, quickly there… in the alcove, behind that wall. And Anika, you must play along for the moment.”
“Play along?” she asked, but her father made no reply as he was already moving towards the door.
“Ah, Chief Arantez, welcome, please come in. Good of you to join us, thank you.”
“Evening, Inspector…” I heard Arantez say from my hiding place. I could easily picture him and guessed that he was in full uniform.
“I’ve brought you a gift, not from Amsterdam, I’m afraid, but from Scotland. It’s a fine single malt.”
“Well, thank you…” I heard Arantez chuckle. “Maybe we can crack this open?”
“I could be persuaded to take a small glass…” Fynn laughed too. “And I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Anika… Darling, please say hello to the Chief, Leo Arantez.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
“I’m very sorry about your fiancé, Miss Fynn. Honestly though, I didn’t even know about the engagement. Gary will be missed, a fine young man. Please accept my condolences.”
“Thank you, Chief, for your very kind words.”
“Yes, a tragic situation, and I’m grateful for your help, Leo.”
“If you don’t mind, father, I think I’ll take a hot shower. It was a tiring flight and I feel somewhat misused.”
“Of course, my dear…”
I could hear Anika walk to the bathroom and the shower starting from far off. Presumably, Arantez and Fynn were now sitting on the sofa. “Cheers,” someone said and glasses clinked.
“So… you considered Gary as son-in-law material?” the chief asked.
“I’m not sure I’d go that far, though we met several times and I rather liked him… For the sake of my daughter of course, I’d like to learn more about the circumstances.”
“I completely understand.”
“No doubt your department has undertaken a thorough investigation.”
“We have. It’s pretty much an open-and-shut case: accidental death. Sorry to say, but Sevens is known to have been drunk that night… Time of death matches with what we know… Found alone— except for his cat. A locked door, the skylights sealed, no sign of a break-in, robbery or foul play.”
“I see…”
“It’s very important to clean the lint screen on this kind of gas dryer,” Arantez said.
“Yes, and have you collected the lint and bagged it as evidence?” Fynn asked.
“Um…”
“What of the clothes in the dryer?”
“I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
“And you’ve ruled out suicide?”
“Yes… there was no note or anything… and everyone we talked to seemed to think Gary was feeling just fine; cheerful, in fact.”
“I see… even so, I’d love to get a glimpse at the file. A professional courtesy, you might call it. Even though I’m retired, the policeman inside me never sleeps.”
I heard Arantez chuckle again. “I completely understand… It’s all here, medical examiner’s report too; and I did bring the photos, but I’d keep them close… You definitely do not want your daughter to see those.”
“Sage advice and most generous of you, Chief.” Fynn paused. “May I ask, who found the unfortunate Mr Sevens?”
“His boss… Melissa from the Chronicle. She came by early to pick him up. They had a photo-shoot together.”
“A what?”
“Pictures for the paper… the annual Sunrise Ten K.”
“A kind of race?”
“A charity thing.” Arantez chuckled to himself. I heard glasses clink again. “What was it she said? I expected to find him hung over, not dead.”
It seemed like the two men went on talking for hours, though I may have dozed a bit. The sound of the door closing startled me awake again. I heard Anika, “Fiancée? Really, father… did you have to say that?”
I poked my head up. She was draped in a towel.
“I’m very sorry, my dear, a dreadful deceit, yet necessary for now.” Fynn was still sitting on the sofa, poring through the files. “Ah, there you are, Patrick…” He barely glanced up. “You may be right
after all… To my eye, this does appear to be a murder.”
“I knew it.”
“Yes, the crime scene photos, and a few small details in the report seem inconsistent.”
I moved closer.
“Ah, but you should not see these pictures…” Fynn hurriedly gathered them into a pile.
“Why not?”
“It should be obvious. You’ll only make yourself upset.”
“We have to fix this,” I said.
“No, we have to solve this murder,” Fynn replied.
“What?”
“To start with at least. We may fix it later…”
“Can I at least read the reports?”
“If you feel up for it.”
I sat on the sofa and threw back a shot of scotch. Anika had put on a nightgown and plopped down next to me. I read everything very carefully and took another drink. “Well, I gotta say, it does look like an accident after all.”
“I’m surprised to hear that,” Fynn commented.
“Seems straightforward. Sevens came home drunk from the Beachcomber, started to make a snack… put his wet clothes in a faulty dryer… he was overcome by gas and hit his head on the kitchen table.” I paused. “Hate to say it, but it sounds exactly like what I would do.”
“What about the teetering chair and the cat?”
“I feel sorry for the poor cat. Kind of creepy though.”
“Oh, the cat died as well, how terrible,” Anika said, but she seemed sleepy to me.
“I think you’re missing the point.”
“Well, I do that sometimes…”
“What?” Fynn asked.
“Teeter in my chair.”
“Yes… well, the medical examiner reports a double wound on the back of his head, almost as if he bounced once or twice on the edge of the table.”
“And?”
“Well, the cat of course… he was found in Gary’s lap.”
“I’m not getting this.”
“If you teeter back and hit your head, surely the cat would not stay put. He would be startled and jump to the floor.”
“Right— if he was still alive— the cat, I mean.”
“Yes, and if the cat was already dead, he’d be found elsewhere. So who died first?”
“It had to be Sevens.”
“As ghoulish as it sounds, the poor creature had enough breath left to climb onto the dead man’s lap before he too was overcome by the fumes.”
“The fumes?”
“Carbon monoxide from the badly vented dryer, presumably.”
“It still could be an accident.”
“Yes, but it raises the first doubt.”
“What else?”
“The double blow to the back of the head is peculiar… and I’m not convinced there is enough blood at the scene… unless it soaked into the carpet.”
“Okay, that’s pretty gruesome… Wait, the snack is all wrong.” I started through the file again.
“How do you mean?”
I read: “A bag of frozen spinach in a pot full of water… and two lobster rolls in the oven… all burners in the off position.”
“And this is significant?”
“I would’ve used the microwave… and I’d never heat up a lobster roll. It’d be gross.”
“I see.”
“Let’s just say I have a unique insight into the victim.”
“And a startling lack of objectivity, I hasten to add. It’s quite possible that this other you does things differently.” Fynn paused. “I do wonder though… why the burners on the stove were not turned on?”
“Another inconsistency.”
“Indeed. And there is the matter of the marks on Sevens’ legs. They have not been explained to my satisfaction.”
“What marks?”
“In the photos… some bruising along the back of the calf and at the ankles.”
“Caused by?”
“The medical examiner speculates someone may have kicked him repeatedly, perhaps while dancing at the club‚ or perhaps during some other enjoyable activity…”
“Pointy boots. I guess that’s possible.”
Fynn looked at me. “I know it’s very difficult, Patrick, but essential I fear.”
“What?”
“You should look at the photos,” he said and poured a whiskey for me. I glanced over at Anika. She was fast asleep. I took another drink and Fynn handed over a stack of glossy eight by tens.
It was odd to see myself sitting in the kitchen chair, dead. I was barefoot, in just my shorts, Schrödinger’s cat curled up in my lap, and my head against the table covered in blood. “Okay, the chair is wrong,” I sputtered. “I’d never sit there. Not facing that way. What am I looking at? A blank wall?”
“Are you saying this has been staged?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that just leaves the locked door then.”
“What?”
“Your counterpart was found behind a locked door. There is no other egress. The skylights are inaccessible. And there are no leaning tree branches nearby to gain access to the roof.”
“But—”
Fynn cut me off, “There’s nothing I dread more than a locked door mystery, with the perpetrator being a time traveler who has jumped away and disappeared.”
“Why is that?” I asked and could barely withhold a smile.
“Well, it’s nearly impossible to explain to the local authorities.”
“It’s good that I never lock my door then.”
“Eh?” Fynn turned to me.
“The sliding doors to the apartment. I never lock them and apparently neither does my doppelgänger.” I reached for a photo and pointed to the latch. It was in the up position, unlocked.
“But the police had to smash the sliding window to gain access to the scene.”
“Well, the door does get stuck sometimes, and that’s exactly why I never lock it.”
“That is something of a relief then.” Fynn rose quite suddenly. “I will meet with the Chief and Detective Durbin tomorrow to inform them this is a murder case. Ah, but I have no credentials in this timeline. I am simply a retired policeman, just a summer visitor here…”
“I’m confident you’ll convince them.”
“Thank you and so am I, though I will also have to insinuate myself into the investigation. It won’t be an easy task, knowing how territorial Arantez can be…” Fynn gave me a friendly pat on the back. “Quite enough for one night. I suppose you might sleep on the sofa…”
“Oh? I thought I’d get a room here.”
“Stay at the Blue Dunes? I think not. There’s too great a chance that someone will see you, and recognize you, or rather, see Gary Sevens alive.”
“What do you suggest?”
“You will stay in Fairhaven, I must insist.”
My mind conjured the giant Grimaldi sign and the sleazy motel Ricky had found. “I’m not going to do that.”
“It’s too risky having you here at the hotel, far too likely that someone will stumble upon your presence… Like it or not, Patrick, to the world you are Gary Sevens, and he is dead. Imagine your friends’ consternation if they were to see you wandering about in Sand City?”
“Okay, you’re right as usual.”
“Perhaps, if you keep a very low profile, you could stay at the Ramada in Oldham.”
“At the rotary?”
“It’s close by and it will only be for a few days.”
“A few days?”
“Until I can get the house in order. Then you can move in with Anika and I.”
“Alright.”
“You might think about disguising yourself as well. Change your hair, wear dark glasses… grow a mustache?”
“I don’t think so… Maybe I’ll go with a beard.”
***
The next morning we had breakfast sent to the room. I was fooled for a moment, thinking I would enjoy a nice cup of coffee, but settled for coco. Anika was up early and had already left for a
walk on the beach.
“I lay awake late last night thinking about your doppelgänger’s clothes,” Fynn said between bites of toast. “What did he wear to the Beachcomber, and what clothes were in the dryer?”
“The same, I would say.”
“You mentioned they would be wet.”
“Just a guess… strolling along the beach late at night…”
“Yes, there was something like that from one of the witness reports.” Fynn paused. “But we don’t know for certain.”
“I was wondering about his shoes, or lack thereof.”
“Why?”
“He was barefoot in that picture.”
“What sort of shoes should he be wearing?” Fynn asked.
“High tops.”
“Pardon?”
“Sneakers… canvas athletic shoes.”
“I see. And why do you say they are missing?”
“I didn’t see them in any of the other pictures.”
“Indeed.” Fynn paused. “I have a great many questions for Chief Arantez and Detective Durbin…”
“Like?’
“Fingerprints. They were not included in the reports.”
“Why is that important?”
Fynn laughed. “They are always important.”
“But in this case?”
“If your supposition that the scene was staged is correct, then I am most interested in which fingerprints are missing.”
“Missing?”
“We would expect to find traces of his friends inside. So, if anyone is missing, that will be suspicious.”
“Why not just travel back to right before Sevens is killed?”
“You mean prevent this?”
I nodded.
“It’s best we find out who the killer is. We must solve this case thoroughly before we can give Mr Sevens his life back.”
“What are you saying?”
“Simply, we must find the perpetrator so that they will not strike again.”
“So you are going to fix it eventually.”
“Yes, I owe him that much at least,” Fynn said and took a sip of coco.
“Did you meet Mrs Domino yet?” I asked.
“No. I have an appointment with her this morning to see about opening the house. I’ll be on my guard…”
“I sort of meant, did you meet her a year ago?”
“Ah… no, she was not present. I believe someone mentioned she was on a skiing vacation.” Fynn paused and seemed distracted.
Low City: Missing Persons (A Tractus Fynn Mystery Book 3) Page 37
