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

by Alexander, MK

  ***

  It felt very strange to be exiled from my own life. At around sunset I was sent packing. Anika provided a basket with supper, and Fynn gave me an old blanket and a fabric windscreen that I could set up like a tent.

  “No fires on the beach tonight, and please don’t draw attention to yourself,” he warned.

  I sat in the sand, moping with the piping plovers. Soon, I could hear the first guests arriving. When it was dark enough, I crept along the dunes to a spot where I had a good view of Fynn’s house, the deck at least, and it was doubtful that anyone would notice me.

  I could see lanterns strung up and tiny white lights outlining the railings. Then I heard music, a familiar song, probably from the sixties. A murmur of conversation drifted down to me, though I could hear no distinct words, only the occasional peal of laughter from some woman who seemed to be having a wonderful evening. Outlined against the lights I could see people talking, drinking, some were even dancing. It looked as if the shadowy guests were having a rollicking good time.

  Everyone from the Chronicle was also at the party. I could hear Pagor’s loud, booming voice. I saw Frank Gannon in a baseball cap but I couldn’t make out what team. Miriam had planted herself in a deck chair. Melissa, Amy, Jason and Joey were all wandering around as well. I also noticed the silhouettes of one Durbin speaking to another.

  Some hours later a figure strolled down the narrow boardwalk towards the beach. I was about to hide but I recognized it as Anika.

  “Patrick?” I heard her call out, and peeked from behind a tuft of dune grass.

  “Over here,” I whispered back.

  “There you are… I thought you might be lonely… and I was getting a bit bored. Care for some company?” Anika came over and sat by my side. She was also carrying a bottle and two plastic cups.

  “How’s the party?”

  “Fine…”

  “How’s your mom doing?”

  “She loves parties…”

  “I meant in general, all this… the house, your dad back, you being here…”

  “It doesn’t exactly jibe with my memories, but I’ve never seen her happier. I suppose it’s because my father and her spent the last few years together in Virginia…”

  “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  “Didn’t he mention that to you? Well, he can be very insensitive at times. Imagine, to throw such a lavish party for all your dead friends and not invite you.”

  “What? My dead friends?”

  “Pardon me, Patrick. I phrased that wrong. I mean to say you are the one dead friend who cannot attend.”

  “Thanks.” We clinked plastic cups and I took a sip of red wine. “Did Mrs Domino show up?”

  “I’m not sure I’ve met her. Do you mean the woman wearing a pearl choker?”

  “That might be her.”

  “Oh, well, yes… she arrived just a few minutes ago.”

  The words were barely out of Anika’s mouth when we heard two muffled bangs. Gunshots had been fired. I sprang to my feet. “You should wait here,” I cautioned, but she would have none of it. We both sprinted to the house.

  Approaching the deck a bit more cautiously, I held Anika back on the stairs. Mrs Domino was standing in the midst of startled partygoers, her gun aimed skyward. Apparently the first shots we heard were only a warning. She took a step towards Fynn. He in turn motioned away anyone nearby, as if to make himself the only target.

  My appearance was a distraction to say the least. Mrs Domino seemed to waver, completely confused. She stared at me, uncomprehending. I was a ghost to her and most of the people there. I heard gasps and drawn breaths. She was however single-minded and refocused her attention to Fynn. “You killed my father. For that, you will die tonight.” Mrs Domino raised her gun towards the inspector. “I’ve been waiting twenty years for this moment…”

  “Wait,” I called out. “You murdered me.”

  She turned. I took a step closer.

  “You hit me with a piece of driftwood, dragged me up the stairs and left me to die…”

  “This is impossible, I killed you already,” Mrs Domino screamed. For an instant though, she lowered her gun. It was enough. Detective Durbin leapt across the deck and made a flying tackle, knocking her senseless. His timing wasn’t perfect though. A single shot rang out. Durbin backed away. His foot was bleeding badly. Ricky ran over and kicked the gun clear. I recognized it immediately: a Beretta four-one-eight.

  It was some small comfort to have both Durbins there, father and son. Ricky was on his cell calling nine-one-one. His father, though wounded, would likely make a full recovery. Moments later I could hear the far off wail of the town siren, calling for an ambulance.

  ***

  “What did Detective Durbin ask you before— on the stretcher?” I asked Fynn.

  “He had a question about fingerprints.”

  “And?”

  “He was quite baffled by the fact that yours match Gary Sevens’.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That I was equally baffled.”

  “We haven’t solved anything,” I complained.

  “Nonsense,” Fynn said. “Surely, justice will be served upon Drummond’s daughter.”

  “Mrs Domino, you mean?”

  “The very same.”

  “What?”

  “I believe Mrs Domino and Drummond’s daughter are one and the same person.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Is it?” Fynn asked.

  I considered for a moment. It wasn’t impossible. It just meant that young Drummond’s daughter gave up on time travel. She settled in Sand City and grew old… waiting all these years for Fynn to appear, or me. “Not jealousy…” I finally said. “No, I killed Sevens.”

  “What?”

  “As soon as I told Mrs Domino that I was Patrick Jardel, I wrote his death sentence.”

  “You’re being too hard on yourself. You’re not to blame.”

  “Maybe not directly… but Mrs Domino killed Gary Sevens all because she discovered the letter that morning.”

  “Well, perhaps it was her fear of being discovered… her volatile nature, her jealousy of the other women… it all boiled over that evening.”

  “Even so…” I muttered.

  “Nonsense,” Fynn repeated, “it’s all ended rather well. I am very satisfied with the result.”

  “Still leaves a lot of questions… Like who stole the coins for one?”

  “We will always have questions, Patrick. It makes life worth living, don’t you agree?”

  “I guess…”

  “Not that it matters. We won’t be here to learn the answers,” Fynn said.

  The party, such as it was, broke up not long afterwards. I was compelled to give a few poignant explanations about being Gary Sevens’ twin brother. I’m not sure I was very convincing. Lorraine was already asleep in bed. Fynn came over to Anika and I. “It’s a lovely night full of stars. A good night to travel,” he said rather coyly.

  “Travel?”

  “Do you remember the three of us about a month ago? We were in the living room playing some silly game. Scrabble, or Monopoly, was it? I recall a chilly evening, the fire was roaring and Lorraine had just made a fresh pot of coffee.”

  “I do remember that,” Anika said brightly. “It’s a very fond memory… What are you proposing, father?”

  “That we should travel back there, tonight, right now— and put all of this behind us.”

  “Isn’t that timeline all messed up?” I asked.

  “Not at all. That evening happened before everything else. We’ll go to the Quarry this very minute,” he said and dusted off his astrolabe.

  I had a funny mental image of the three of us holding hands, engaging in libra lapsus and jumping into the black waters of the Quarry. We would blink out of existence and travel back to Fynn’s cozy scenario. “Wait a second…” I said, “if we just leave, you know, go back to our own timeline, won’t Sevens still be
dead?”

  “You raise an excellent point, Patrick.” Fynn smiled.

  “You must put things right, father, and save the poor cat as well.”

  “You’ll be happy to know I’ve already planned how to rectify the situation.”

  “How?”

  “A note will be handed to Gary Sevens, warning him not to attend the Beachcomber.”

  “A note from whom?”

  “It’s anonymous but quite explicit.”

  “Explicit how?”

  “It names Mrs Domino as a mortal enemy.”

  “Who will deliver this note?”

  “Miriam, your most efficient receptionist.”

  “Do you have a plan B here?”

  “Of course. Gary Sevens’ washer and dryer will be dismantled on the twentieth of May.”

  “How will that happen?”

  “I’ll see to it personally, and I’ll prepare a work order with the Double Gull Appliance Repair Company. The machine will be missing a few parts which have to be special ordered. It will take weeks to fix.”

  ***

  “That’s a long way down,” Anika complained, peering into the quarry depths.

  “Nonsense, it’s just over a meter, my dear.”

  “Well, I didn’t bring my swimsuit. And that black water looks very cold.”

  “Honestly, I don’t expect to hear a splash.”

  “Oh father, I’m terribly afraid I’ll just end up in nineteen sixty-four, like I always do.”

  “Trust me, my dear, you will not.”

  “And if I do, you’ll come visit?”

  “Of course.” Fynn smiled.

  “And you, Patrick?”

  I gave her a comforting hug and similarly vague reassurances.

  Anika jumped and blinked from existence. Fynn seemed well satisfied that his daughter was at the very least safe. We walked back to the house on Dune Road.

  “I’m never getting home, am I?”

  “And by home, you mean?”

  “My usual timeline.”

  “Ah, but I will make it my life’s mission to see that you do. You shall once again enjoy a hot cup of coffee in familiar surroundings, and among your friends.”

  “Thanks, but…”

  “Have I ever lied to you, Patrick?”

  I had to think about that for a second. “No, I guess not.”

  Inspector Fynn did indeed have a plan, though getting me back was a bit complicated— and there would be consequences. It entailed going to 1933 and starting over again. “Reseting the causality, as it were,” he said.

  “What will we give up if I go back?”

  “The manuscripts, I would guess.”

  “What about Murray? Can I still save him?”

  “If we are able to time things with precision. For that I will rely on your excellent memory.”

  It took me over a week to learn how to use the astrolabe. The hardest bit was calculating sidereal time. Fynn gave me an ephemeris for that, and I had Edmund’s compass as a back up. A few days later, we found ourselves along the Hudson River at the base of the waterfall, and standing on the ruins of the temple.

  “So, a hard jump?” I asked.

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Wait… not a replacement jump?”

  “I cannot say to be honest what might happen, but it is the only way I can think of to return you to the proper timeline.”

  “Will I remember any of this? Everything that happened?”

  “We can only hope so.”

  With some last minute guidance I took my leap of faith. It was painful enough and when I arrived, it seemed to be winter. I was also still carrying all the items Fynn had provided. So far so good. Murray had been saved by my reckoning, and once I found a calendar I was assured of this. I had a brief luncheon with Madeline and the Brigadier, and then a tedious journey back to Sand City which included a bus, a train, and some hitchhiking.

  My only mistake was choosing the Quarry again as a point of departure; that is, from 1933 back to my usual present. There were still a great many machines operating and hardly a drop of water. I chose the high dunes instead, employed Edmund’s compass, and double checked everything with the astrolabe and the ephemeris. I was ready, ready to return. Again.

  ***

  Everything was as it should be. I landed just at the water’s edge, cushioned by the soft sand. My feet were barely wet. I headed south along the shoreline. Soon enough I could see Fynn’s house, that boxy shape tucked away in the dunes. I spotted the yellow caution tape as well, and even saw a few piping plovers scurrying behind their imaginary wall of safety. I ran up to the house and knocked on the door.

  “Ah, there you are, Patrick; a bit early for our Scrabble game, isn’t it?” Fynn said in greeting and added a smile.

  “Not too early for a shot a single malt.”

  “A difficult journey home, eh?” Fynn laughed and turned his head. He called out, “Anika dear, we have a visitor.”

  She appeared a moment later and wrapped her arms around me. “Oh Patrick, I wasn’t expecting you till Monday… but I am very glad to see you nonetheless.” She stared up into my gaze, just smiling.

  “Where’s your mother gone?” Fynn asked Anika eventually and ushered me inside.

  “With Aunt Elaine, they’ve gone off to Fairhaven for the evening.”

  Everything was as it should be. None of us were really in the mood for Scrabble or Monopoly, besides we had memories to compare, a far better game than either. I did make a steaming pot of coffee. It was absolute heaven to sit down and take my first sip.

  It was also to be my last. At that moment the front door to Fynn’s house burst open. We didn’t have much chance to react, though we all rose to a standing position.

  “Ah, I can smell the coffee…”

  It was Mortimer who said that, sarcastically or not. He was followed by an entourage: Lilly, Chloe and a young woman with red hair and a big smile, doubtless, Drummond’s daughter. It was almost as if they had just jumped from the London party, though costume-less for the most part. The young Denise Domino was still wearing her pearl choker, and a fringed leather jacket. She seemed to be carrying something in each hand— I couldn’t clearly see what. I squinted hard. It was not a toy pistol, but a Beretta and a silencer that she married at that moment.

  I also looked over at Chloe and Lilly. One of them acknowledged me with a passing glance; the other stared back as if I were a stranger. Neither of them seemed particularly pleased to be present, nor could I tell them apart. They were identical and without glasses; both wore the same paisley-printed dress, and their hair was styled in exactly the same manner.

  Mortimer followed my gaze. “Well, well, Patrick, I see you are acquainted with the charming sisters. One of them borrowed my cane. Now there are two. And I can no longer tell them apart. Isn’t that right, girls?”

  “Yes,” they replied in unison.

  “This is the man?” Drummond’s daughter asked angrily, glaring at me. “You told me you didn’t know his name.”

  “He’s rather a slippery fellow; he uses many names,” Mortimer lied as easily as talking.

  The young Mrs Domino lunged towards me but Mortimer held her back. “No, you don’t get to murder him again, my dear,” Mortimer scolded. “You’ve killed him three times already by my count. I don’t know what more you expect. And this particular version of Jardel? Well, he’s rather innocent. He had nothing to do with your father’s death.”

  I couldn’t tell if Mortimer was lying or just mistaken.

  “He should die, like all the rest.”

  “I’m sure I should not let you kill him again.” Mortimer smiled at me. “Besides, we’ve come for someone else this evening.” Mortimer looked over at Fynn.

  “The old man?” she asked.

  “Yes, the one and only Tractus Fynn, as promised. And you may kill him in a moment. But, I must have a few words first.”

  “So, this is your new protégé?” Fynn asked. />
  “She’s hardly that,” Mortimer replied. “I needed a helper… someone motivated and driven, even if by their own agenda. She suits my purposes for now.”

  “By killing my partners, my colleagues?”

  “Regrettable, eh? All those innocent policemen gunned down in their prime?” Mortimer gave his thin smile. “More or less a distraction though. I hoped to keep you occupied… though I’m not so sure the plan was successful.” Mortimer turned his gaze to me. “Nor did she eliminate all the various Jardels. There seems to be one remaining.”

  “I killed them all, and I’ll do it again in a heartbeat,” Drummond’s daughter said and added her big smile.

  “Ah, you see… she’s more than I bargained for, worse than her father. She’s a wild thing…” Mortimer laughed. “From her perspective, Fynn here is a mass murderer. He’s killed hundreds of Drummonds, all those duplicates, living separate lives, from all walks of life, and all of them contributing to history in their own way.”

  “We didn’t kill anyone, we just stopped him from traveling the first time,” I protested, knowing it was in vain.

  “In her eyes, you’ve committed genocide.”

  “Patricide,” I corrected him.

  “Or a kind of familicide, one might suppose.”

  “No one has been killed, my dear,” Fynn said, appealing directly to the young redhead.

  She returned only a look of scorn.

  “This Drummond does not have much awareness. She only believes you killed her father. And she is seeking justice. She’s quite single-minded in that regard.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Anika cried out in a desperate voice.

  Mortimer all but ignored her. “I suppose I could have saved one of Drummond’s sons instead, but I never liked them much, nor him for that matter… but his daughter can be quite charming, and obedient.” He turned his glance to the young Mrs Domino. “You’ve proven yourself very adept— haven’t you, darling?” Mortimer faced Fynn again. “I saved her from oblivion, by snatching her to the future a day before you killed her father.”

  “We did no such thing,” Fynn repeated.

  “And I’ve learned from my mistakes of course. This daughter of Drummond knows not about doubling or doppelgängers. There is only one version of her. And so it shall remain.”