Murder in the Multiverse

by R E McLean

  “Yeah. Dancer’s stride, glasses that make you want to rip your eyes out and forget you ever saw them. Except…”

  “Except what?”

  Alex considered. She had to be wrong: Sean was dead. He’d died the previous night.

  “Except nothing. Can I get you another drink?”

  Sarita’s bottle was empty; she’d been sucking the last few molecules from it for the last few minutes. “Gin & tonic. Get yourself the same. No more beer.”

  Alex saluted, “aye, aye,” and went to the bar.

  35

  Stitches

  Berkeley

  27 March, 9:57pm

  Alex fell into the apartment. Schrödinger was waiting for her, nowhere near his box. Good.

  “Hey boy.” She ruffled his fur. He purred.

  She pulled out her phone. Dad had called hours ago. She hoped nothing was wrong.

  It would be almost 6am at home. If Dad was on the night shift, he’d be about to finish.

  She stared at her phone. She should wait till the morning, when it would be afternoon at home. When she wasn’t drunk. But then, Rik’s tone had worried her.

  She dialed.

  “Hiya, hen.” He was whispering.

  “Hi Dad. You called me?”

  “Och, yes love. Are you sitting down?”

  She felt a chill run over her skin. She slumped onto the couch.

  “I am now. What is it?”

  “Wait a sec.”

  She heard movement on the other end of the line. It sounded like he was walking. She resisted the urge to shout at him, to tell him to spit it out. Her breathing was shallow. Why had she gone to the bar with Sarita, instead of calling him?

  “Are you at work still?” she asked.

  “I’m with Aunty Morag.”

  “She’s not been decorating again?”

  A pause. “No, hen. We’re at the hospital.”

  “What’s Morag doing at your work?”

  A pause. “I’m sorry, Alex. She’s been attacked.”

  “Attacked?”

  “Someone broke into her house. She’s in a bad way.”

  Alex’s mouth fell open. She thought of the night her mom was killed, the botched burglary.

  “Is she—is she going to be alright?”

  “The doctors say she’s responding well. She had to have stitches.”

  Alex thought of Aunty Morag in her garishly decorated house, alone since Uncle Hamish had died of a heart attack five years ago.

  “Why?” she asked. “Have they caught them?”

  “Not yet. Probably kids, they reckon. Druggies. Like—you know, like your ma.”

  The memories flooded in. They’d broken in when Dad was out at work. Alex’s mom had woken up and confronted them. They’d hit her around the face with something heavy, something blunt that the police had never identified.

  Alex nodded. Tears were dripping off her nose. She and her dad rarely talked about Mom’s death. He was a taciturn man, an old-fashioned Scot who didn’t believe in showing emotion.

  “I’ll come home,” she said.

  “I’ve still got that ticket. I’ll come to you.”

  “Can you leave her?”

  “There’s an army of women clucking over her. I’m in the way. Besides, it would do me good to see you.”

  “Me too,” she croaked.

  “Good. Anyway, I’ve a nurse looking daggers at me. Time to go. Call me tomorrow, aye?”

  “Yes. Give Aunty Morag my love.”

  “Will do. Don’t worry lass. She’s a tough nut, your aunty. She’ll pull through.”

  Alex remembered the night after her mom’s attack. They’d said much the same thing, but she was dead within twenty-four hours.

  “I’ll see you in just a few days,” he said. “You be OK without me till then?”

  She laughed. “Of course, Dad. I’m a big girl.”

  “Good. I’ll gi’ your aunty your love.”

  “Thanks. I love you Dad.”

  “Oh, away with you. Don’t be talking such nonsense.”

  She allowed herself a smile and hung up. Schrödinger was in her arms; she hadn’t noticed him jumping up to her lap. The fur on his back was damp with her tears.

  36

  Blouse

  San Francisco

  28 March, 9:13am

  “Mike told me what you did. With the object.”

  Monique was behind her desk, dressed in a heavy green blouse with a large bow at the collar that looked as if it wanted to strangle her.

  Alex glared at Mike. The two of them sat opposite Monique. Sarita was behind them, leaning on the glass that separated them from the rest of the Homicide team. She wore a turquoise shirt that caught the light in all the right ways.

  “Ms Jones, tell us what you found,” Monique said.

  Alex shifted to see Sarita giving her a why didn’t you tell me look.

  “Ms Jones?”

  Sarita shifted her gaze to Monique. “I ran an overnight download. It’s in the bitbox’s history. Alex googled herself.”

  Alex took a breath. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course not.”

  Alex considered looking Sarita up next time, seeing if she had an opposite number in Silicon City. Maybe the alternative one wouldn’t betray her to her boss.

  Her head pounded; gin and tonic didn’t agree with her. She could only imagine what entering the Spinner with a hangover would be like.

  Sarita sighed. “You’re only human, I guess. Only an Old Earther, in thrall to everything Hive Earth has to offer.”

  Alex looked up. “Not everything. Mike told me a thing or two about—”

  “Propaganda. Most of it, at least. They have their own version of Occupy over there. Floor, it’s called.

  “Floor?’

  “They like to sit on the floor. They protest.”

  “Are you going to let me go back?”

  Sarita narrowed her eyes. “Why should we trust you?”

  Alex needed to go back, to track down the Hive Earth version of her mom. The attack on Auntie Morag had made her more determined. And she had a hunch about Sean, or the version of him she’d seen…

  “Think about it,” she said. “An airline company that’s recently had a crash becomes the safest one to travel on. Same goes for a bank that’s been robbed. I’m like that.”

  “You’re an airplane?”

  “I’m a safe bet. I made a dumb mistake and I won’t make it again.”

  “It’s irrelevant, anyway,” said Monique.

  “Why?” chorused Alex and Sarita.

  “Because we don’t need you to go back. Mike can take it from here.”

  Mike didn’t look too happy about this idea. “I’m not sure…”

  “She’s not going back. You said you saw Sean’s doppelganger. I need you to check him out. Find out why he was in the building opposite.”

  “I don’t think he was Sean’s doppelganger,” said Alex.

  “No?” Monique gritted her teeth.

  “He smelled familiar,” Alex said. “At least, he seemed to. I think it was our Sean.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Not for sure. Time isn’t straightforward between universes. It sort of bends.”

  “She’s got a point,” said Sarita. Alex allowed herself a smile.

  “You think Sean went to Silicon City? You think he could have gone there after he died here?” Monique’s face was pinched.

  “No,” said Alex. “Before.”

  “He’s dead. He shot himself at 9.37pm the night before last. There’s no way you can have seen him yesterday morning. You’re talking nonsense.” Monique gave Sarita a hard look. Sarita twisted her lips.

  “Right,” said Alex. “But he had the smell.”

  “What exactly is this goddamn smell?” asked Monique. She had deep shadows under her eyes and her normally smooth skin was dull and flaky.

  Alex considered. “It’s sharp. Pungent. It reminds me of something, bu
t I can’t place it.”

  “Well think a bit harder.”

  “I’m trying. But it’s different every time. Sometimes it makes you want to chop your nose off and forget you ever smelled it. Sometimes it’s almost… almost addictive.”

  “Sounds like glue to me,” muttered Mike.

  “That’s it!”

  “What? It’s just glue?” Mike looked disappointed.

  “It’s not glue. Not exactly. But that’s the closest I can think of. PVA glue. I smelt it in the lab, and yesterday. On Sean. Or his doppelganger.”

  “Which means…” began Sarita.

  “Which means he’s jumped,” said Alex.

  “That’s impossible.” Monique looked over Alex’s head, at Sarita. “Isn’t it?”

  “Only we have a Spinner.”

  “Well if he smells like someone who’s jumped, maybe there’s more than one Spinner,” said Mike.

  “No way,” said Sarita.

  “I suggest we go back there and find out.” Mike was getting to his feet.

  “But if it was our Sean, even with the timey-wimey thing,” said Alex, “that’s pointless. He’s dead now.”

  “We have to try,” said Mike. “Maybe it isn’t him who jumped. Maybe he’s been with someone who has.” He gave Sarita a suspicious look.

  “There’s only one Spinner,” she said. “We’d know.”

  Alex shifted forward in her chair. “What has CSI said about his suicide?”

  “It’s clean,” said Monique. “Nothing suspicious at all. He used his own gun to shoot himself once, through the back of the head. No one else was in his apartment.”

  “What about his boyfriend? Philip Gladstone?”

  “In New York on a business trip.”

  “That’s very convenient.”

  “Hold on,” said Mike. “Maybe whoever killed Claire killed Sean too. Maybe it’s them who jumped.”

  “That’s absurd,” said Sarita.

  Monique leaned across the desk. The anger had gone from her face and was replaced by a weariness Alex had not seen so far.

  “We can’t argue with the forensics.”

  Alex felt her shoulders slump.

  “But,” said Monique.

  Alex perked up. “But?”

  “But it doesn’t do any harm to check it out.”

  Mike let out a breathy whistle.

  “You’re letting us go back?” asked Alex.

  “Just Mike. Get back there, and observe. Do not, I repeat not, draw attention to yourself.”

  “I want Alex with me,” said Mike.

  “You what?” Monique stood up. “Yesterday you told me she was a liability.”

  “We don’t jump alone. And she can smell this… whatever it is. She can help.”

  Alex stifled a smile.

  “I won’t touch anything. I’ll stick with Mike, and I’ll keep away from Sean if we see him.”

  “Hmm.”

  Alex waited. Monique sighed. She looked at Mike, who nodded. “Alright then. But your remit is very, very clear. You’re to watch Claire’s apartment. You’re to see if you can track down Sean, see what he’s up to. On no account must either of them know that you’re watching them.”

  Alex and Mike nodded.

  “You do nothing to draw attention to yourselves. You don’t use that box.”

  “They can’t,” said Sarita.

  “What?” said Mike.

  “It’s fritzed. It’ll take me a week to fix it.”

  “But you’re a materials genius.”

  ‘Very kind of you to say so, Mike,” replied Sarita. “But it’s Hive tech. It’ll take a while to fix.”

  Monique shook her head. “We have to work with what we have. Get back there. Look for him. Or for anyone who might be from here.”

  37

  Earpiece

  MOO

  28 March, 10:50am

  “You want your own earpiece?”

  Alex nodded, hoping Mike and the Prof couldn’t hear. They were back at MOO, having jumped about twenty minutes earlier. She’d told Madonna that she had something she needed to discuss with her about her clothing, and that it was of a delicate feminine nature. She’d taken care to compliment Madonna on her hair—piled on top of her head today and resembling a swirl of ice cream. She hoped it was enough.

  “Sarita told me you could supply one.”

  “She didn’t tell you about the risks.”

  “No.” She wasn’t lying; it was Mike who’d told her about the risks associated with people from their Earth using the earpieces. But she had quizzed Sarita about them before their jump, in the guise of finding out more about the Pearl. It turned out that only those people who had a Hive Earth doppelgänger would suffer. Something to do with the system shorting out when simultaneously confronted with two users having the same genetic code. She, Alex, didn’t exist here in Silicon City. Or anywhere on Hive Earth, as far as she was aware.

  “People from your Earth tried them before. The results aren’t nice.”

  “Only if you have an opposite number here. I don’t.”

  Madonna frowned. “She shouldn’t be telling you that kind of thing.”

  Alex shrugged. “Look me up.”

  Madonna considered her suggestion for a moment. Then she put her finger to her ear and closed her eyes, losing herself in the Hive.

  After a few moments Madonna opened her eyes again.

  “There’s no Alex Strand here.”

  Alex didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She considered asking whether there ever had been an Alex Strand, but then decided she didn’t want to know. Not yet, anyway. Besides, having two of her here would just complicate things, once she tracked down her mom.

  “Good,” she said. “Then you can let me have one?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Think of it as research. I’ll need a Pearl too.”

  Madonna twisted her face into a shape that made the beauty spot above her lip disappear into her cheek. “It’s a touch irregular,” she said. “I’ll need to consult with Nemesis.”

  “Don’t!”

  “Why not?”

  Alex wasn’t sure she could talk two people into this. “Sarita said this was top secret. She said you could be trusted. Another woman, you know.”

  Madonna raised an eyebrow. “Not sure what that has to do with it, darling.” The Prof and Mike were approaching. Mike had a thick, bushy beard. It made him look like he would either serve her a coffee or write her a computer program.

  “Please?” said Alex, falling back on her sweetest smile.

  Madonna sighed. “Oh, alright. Here.”

  She slipped a small device into Alex’s hand and Alex put it straight into the pocket of her black velvet coat. This one may be Madonna’s regulation black, but the velvet felt good, reminding her of that couple in the coffee shop.

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  “You’ll be using a Hackney this time,” said the Prof, finally approaching them. “We can’t risk the car. I gave Mike my credit card.”

  “Credit card?”

  The Prof laughed at her. “We still have such antediluvian things, my dear. They can come in useful in an emergency. Something I hope we won’t be experiencing again.”

  “No. You won’t,” said Alex. Without that dumb bitbox to malfunction on them, what could possibly go wrong?

  They arrived at Claire’s in less than three minutes, the Hackney gliding along the shores of the Bay this time instead of taking the roads. Alex was becoming accustomed to the comfort. She wondered if Sarita might be able to replicate whatever technology made these so comfortable. It could be the best invention since the kilt.

  Alex glanced at the coffee shop as they alighted and considered offering to fetch a coffee, then remembered the barista’s reaction to takeout and decided against it. Besides, Mike would roast her head on a spit if she suggested it again.

  They walked into the building in as casual manner as they could, waiti
ng for the receptionist to recognize them and turn them out. But today there was someone different sitting at the desk. Instead of the orange-hued man, there was an elderly woman, like a blue-skinned version of Madge.

  Mike showed an ID badge instead of the bitbox this time and the woman waved them through, looking bored. Alex was puzzled by how all this old tech was getting them access. Surely they were past this sort of thing? Or maybe it was like stores still taking cash at home, or using a bus pass.

  They headed for the elevator and went up to the sixth floor.

  “Shouldn’t we take the stairs?” asked Alex. “In case we spot him again.”

  She thought of the manila envelope Rik had given her, at home on her kitchen table. If she came across Sean again, she knew what she was looking for.

  “I doubt we’d get that lucky twice. But maybe we should take a look around the building, see if we can find any sign of him.”

  “How?” They were on the sixth floor now, making their way along the corridor. The poppies waved at them in an artificial breeze. There was no other movement.

  He shrugged. “Let’s check out Claire’s apartment first.”

  They entered the apartment from the previous day and Alex squinted, shielding her eyes from the disorientating effect of that gravity-defying furniture. Mike headed for the window and leaned against it, shielding his eyes with his hands. He reached inside his jacket pocket and bought out a tiny pair of binoculars.

  “Where did you get those?”

  “Nemesis let me have them. He felt bad that we didn’t have any tech.”

  “Cool.” So she wasn’t the only one persuading members of MOO to furnish her with equipment. Binoculars were nothing on what she had in her pocket, though.

  He turned back to the window. “She’s there. In her kitchen.”

  “Good.” Alex stood next to him, trying to work out which of the windows opposite belonged to Claire. “What’s she doing?”

  “Not sure. She’s on the floor. Crouching.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  He shrugged.