Sand City Murders

by MK Alexander

  “It was.”

  “So somebody is looking for something?”

  “You’re right, Joey.”

  “What and who?”

  “I don’t know who yet, but I think they were looking for a cane.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That’s all I know, I’m telling you straight.”

  “A cane, huh? I heard some weird rumor about that…”

  “What?”

  “Don’t remember really…”

  It was Thursday paste-up night again. There was no shortage of news for the front page this week. Eleanor had four horrendous crimes to choose from. The Kennel Killings, Lucinda’s murder, and now, Lorraine’s murder on the sculpture. It was a difficult decision for her. Spooky Park went above the fold. Emma, Alyson and Lucinda, shared the remaining space.

  “Frank… you actually have sports news for this week?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Dads and Grads.”

  “What?”

  “Dads verses Grads Ultimate tournament last week.”

  “Who won?”

  “Surprisingly enough, the dads.”

  “Did you play?”

  “I did.”

  “Nice.”

  Amy was her usual efficient self, though it seemed we had not had a fling, nor had I seen any of her tattoos. She also brought a guest with her, if guest is the right word. It was Jason. He played the role of observer and a very unobtrusive one at that. He seemed able to deftly step back and stay out of the way, never getting under foot. He watched the paste-up process intently, and by the end of the night, announced that a third version of the Chronicle could be easily produced.

  “Sure, an e-pub version, like a color e-book.”

  Thankfully, Eleanor had left the building shortly before this.

  “Tell me something Jason, how well do you know Jack leaning?”

  “Jack from the Times?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like I said, um, I did a little freelance IT work.”

  “Anything in particular? Maybe something with their automatic morgue?”

  “Oh that.” he pushed against his glasses.

  “Yeah, that.”

  “He wanted me to install a kill-switch.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Kind of crazy, really. It was a way for Leaning to shut down the archives when he wanted to. Just have to type in double caps, like LL or JJ…”

  “Why would anyone want to do that?”

  “I dunno…prying eyes maybe? A control freak? He’s in charge of the whole thing now.”

  “What thing?”

  “He’s king of the morgue.”

  ***

  Suzy was skinnier still, almost gorgeous, though I wasn’t completely convinced this was a timeline thing. I saw her at the ice cream shop again, ordering another fruit smoothy... She was all giggles and smiles, dancing around me, touching me casually and provocatively. She also complained sweetly that I’d been neglecting my drinking obligations at Partners.

  chapter 29

  one angry man

  Time to take stock. We were up to eight murders, though Inspector Fynn regarded them all rather differently. Things could only be rectified once we solved the murder at Sunset Park, a murder he insisted that straddled the past and the present. Fynn reasoned that if we could solve this crime, everything else would fall into place. I’m not so sure reason was the driving force, I think it was more akin to belief. Detective Durbin and the newly-returned or never-departed Chief Arantez saw things in a completely different light. To them it was a serial killer on the loose who had to be found at all costs and before the season opened next weekend. In that respect all three policemen were on the same page.

  Fynn and I were back to our usual Friday Map Quest. We opted for another long walk at the beach. This time we chose the high dunes, North Hollow and drove up on a bright sunny morning. We were hardly alone. Lots of people were out enjoying the warm day. The beach was wide enough and long; it easily swallowed us all, easily allowed our private thoughts to be spoken. Fynn went barefoot again and even waded into the icy Atlantic waters. I followed him in tenuously but it was way too cold for me. We headed towards North Point, some two miles up the beach that curved away to the west. The wind was in our faces; a stiff breeze blew off the ocean side.

  I turned to the inspector and said, “I’m not liking this timeline, Fynn.”

  “How so?

  “It’s too different.”

  “I agree, there are a number of aspects which don’t add up.” Fynn hesitated. “I will go so far as to say this timeline only seems to mimic the first, and this is certainly a cause for concern.”

  “What do you mean mimic?”

  “It is like the first time we met… we have the unsolved murders of the first two girls again. But how can that be so? Only if they were murdered a second time.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Just as I went back to fix things, Mortimer went back to unfix them.” Fynn gave me a pained expression. “It appears that he attempts to mimic the first timeline.”

  “Why?”

  “I cannot say. Though knowing him, he must have a purpose. Mortimer tries to recreate things as they were, but cannot exactly. It frays at the edges… there are some aspects he cannot duplicate.”

  “Like?”

  “Roxy for one. Remember, I brought him back to the present.”

  “Is that what happened at the kennel? Was he searching for Roxy?”

  “This pains me greatly. What was his intent? Simply to kill the poor creature? Or to bring him back to the past, to lure Clara out to the beach again?”

  “Take him back to the past? Like bait?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “But that’s impossible,” I said. “You told me so yourself… you explained to me that you can’t bring anything back to the past.”

  “I also told you about the exception to this. A hard jump to the past. Don’t you recall? It is difficult, but possible to travel back to the past as a new person, providing you were never there in the first place. There is, let’s call it a gap between existences. And if I am able to do such, surely Mortimer is as well.”

  “And the records at Doctor Samuels’?”

  “I see this as an attempt to locate Clara Hobbs… again. He had to be sure to kill the same woman. It seems clear that his information was not complete.”

  “What about Debra Helling?”

  “He does not know about her car.”

  “Wait, he might…”

  “How so?”

  “Somebody tried to break into your garage, about a month back.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t think they found anything.”

  “Who is they?”

  “Unknown perpetrator, the police chased him away.”

  “Hmm. This could be quite important.” Fynn walked ahead a few steps. “At least it’s ironic.”

  “Ironic?”

  “The police protecting a stolen automobile.” Fynn chuckled.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, then a different thought struck me. “What room are you in now?”

  “Two-o-nine.”

  “Can you see the ocean?”

  “No longer.”

  I caught up to Fynn and we strode in tandem. “It’s the things that I’m forgetting that worries me, not the things I remember.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I don’t remember Arantez coming back, and the whole story about little league opening day… but Durbin does. There are other things too, little things…”

  “Such as?”

  “I’m not sure where to start. Everything just seems a little off.” I paused. “There’s Lucinda of course.”

  “Yes… and the high heels.”

  “And is it still Lorraine at Sunset Park? Maybe that’s changed too.”

  “No, this has remained constant as far as I can tell.” Fynn stopped and let the surf roll up along his ankles. �
�Our tasks are straight forward: I must call Amsterdam. We must find Roxy, and we must identify Mortimer and his cohorts.”

  “Can we take these one at a time?” I asked with all sincerity.

  “That’s the best way to proceed, I should think.”

  “Good. Why call Amsterdam? You’re talking about the murders in the other countries?”

  “You still remember these?”

  “I do. But why is it important?”

  “Well, Lorraine and I moved to Holland very early on… These are also attempts at grievous injury.” Fynn paused. “It’s important to know if this has occurred.”

  “Why doesn’t this guy just attack you personally, mano a mano?”

  “This is a good question. He is a coward in some ways, I suppose. And, I am difficult to kill. Indeed, I am difficult to find… but mostly, he wants to see me suffer by murdering my loved ones.”

  “He murdered your daughter too?”

  “No. But by taking Lorraine, we could not meet, marry and have our child, Anika.”

  “So the killings will stop now?”

  “We can only hope, but I fear not. This may be just the beginning.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He may not fully understand that my wife is dead… here and now, in the present. Though he may know that I have a daughter whom I treasure. It seems likely that he would go after her next.”

  “But she’s not here… she doesn’t exist in this timeline.”

  “As you say.” Fynn paused. “You understand this of course, but he might not. There is a possibility that he will seek my Anika even though she is not here.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he may go on killing young girls indiscriminately.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No.”

  I walked on a few steps in silence. “Okay, two: Find Roxy… why?”

  “It is important to know if he is alive or dead, present or not. Mortimer took great pains to find this little dog for whatever reason. To Mortimer, it’s no real effort to travel back to Clara’s murder over and over again until he arranges things exactly to his liking.”

  “Why would he want to do that?”

  “I cannot say. Perhaps he wants Clara dead and Roxy far in the past. There would be no one to remember the poor little stray.”

  “Alright… on to three: Find Mortimer.”

  “Yes, for now that list is rather short and identifying him is something only I can accomplish.”

  “I don’t know… carries a cane, six feet tall, one eye, size eleven Italian shoes… I ought to be able to pick him out of a crowd.”

  Fynn gave me an odd look and laughed slightly. “Perhaps we can begin by inspecting people’s shoes then.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not. “Finding Mortimer’s agent is going to be a lot tougher isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean, it could be anyone.”

  “Anyone, yes.”

  “Do you think they know?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Do they know what they’re doing?”

  “I doubt it... to them it may all seem quite normal… yet, I suppose it depends on what’s asked of them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, if I asked you to murder someone, you would likely say no.”

  “See your point.”

  “Mortimer may have chosen the most unscrupulous person he could find. We cannot assume they are acting innocently.”

  “Do they have the same kind of memory as me?”

  “I rather doubt it,” Fynn said. “But I think it is someone fairly close to you… someone who knows your movements and has been watching your actions.”

  “Who?”

  “As I say, we must make a list and eliminate them one by one.”

  “Eliminate them?”

  “A figure of speech, Patrick…” He grinned rather too broadly. “Of course I mean strike them off our list.”

  “Oh. But who do you mean, someone I work with?”

  “It could be a co-worker or an acquaintance… a friend perhaps.”

  “A friend?”

  “It is difficult for you, I realize. It is time I met all your friends, Patrick, and all your colleagues. You must introduce them to me.”

  My life went from delusion to paranoia. Everyone I knew and loved, everyone I worked with was suddenly suspect. I was having a hard time imagining my friends and colleagues as brutal killers. “Well in terms of elimination… we can take a lot of people off the Mortimer list.”

  “How so?”

  “By gender to start with.”

  “Of course, yes.”

  “So, that would only leave us with tall males. Okay, I’m just thinking out loud here… There’s Joey. He’s not tall and he’s half-Korean, half-Italian. So he’s off the list. There’s Jason Knobblers, maybe he’s six feet… Let’s see… Frank Gannon, the sportswriter… He’s probably about six feet too— but hmm, not the most… well, not the most efficient guy I’ve ever met. You can probably rule out Frank.”

  “Why is this?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wearing anything other than high-tops.”

  “High-tops?”

  “Sneakers.”

  “Sneakers?”

  “Running shoes, um, athletic shoes.”

  “Oh, trainers…” Fynn said and paused. “Perhaps his shoe size is more relevant?”

  I wasn’t sure if that was a clue or a joke. I continued, “Okay, well there’s Donald Pagor, he’s tall— but I’ve known him for years…”

  “That matters little.”

  “Leaning, Jack from the Times. He’s a head taller than me.”

  “Certainly a person of interest now.”

  “Well, I’m putting my money on Chamblis.”

  “Why, because you do not like the man?”

  “There’s that… but there’s more. Something creepy about him, and he’s definitely over six feet tall.”

  “Then it’s high time that I meet this Mr Chamblis,” Fynn said. “He seems to be our number two suspect.”

  “Who’s number one?”

  “I would say Doctor Hackney, the coroner…” Fynn paused and seemed to be lost in thought. He stared out at the ocean as far as the horizon. “Even though Detective Durbin regards Samuels and Hackney as friends, it might not be the case…”

  “Okay, then we’re back to accomplices.”

  “Yes, our most difficult task, ferreting these people out.”

  “What would motivate anyone to help this guy?”

  “Monetary gain leaps to mind, of course. Yet, we must be careful how we use this word accomplice.”

  “Why?”

  “Simply that you might be unwittingly helping Mortimer, not at all conscious of what you’re doing.”

  “Me, specifically?”

  “Of course not,” Fynn replied and smiled. “A friend asks a favor… you think nothing of it… you hardly consider that you might be furthering some madman’s diabolical purposes.”

  “Right...”

  “Mortimer is seeking information more than anything, and monitoring events.”

  “Wait, am I your accomplice?”

  “I prefer the word friend.”

  I laughed but only a little, and maybe out of nervousness.

  “Mortimer is hardly the type of person to inspire trust. More likely, he would appeal to a person’s baser instincts… or blackmail perhaps.”

  “Just the one, then? I mean only one real accomplice.”

  Fynn paused. “There maybe more than one. On past occasions, Mortimer has befriended people who are locked away in asylums… He grants them freedom sometimes, and they in turn develop a misplaced loyalty towards him.”

  “Hmm…. Like Saint Alban’s?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “The place not on the map.”

  “Ah yes, the place you do not wish to visit. Is there anything m
ore you can say about this sanatorium?”

  “It closed down in the eighties.”

  “When did it begin?”

  “Nineteen twenties?”

  “Very curious. Not a coincidence I am now thinking.”

  I changed the subject. “How much does he know about you?”

  “Too much it would appear. Though, out of some instinct, some innate caution perhaps, I was always careful not to reveal my name.” Fynn smiled. “And I will say, I’ve had many names over the years.”

  “Many names?”

  “Yes.”

  “So he doesn’t know you as Tractus Fynn?”

  “He may or may not… but more to the point: Is he still here? Has he moved on? Will he return?”

  “He’s our killer though?”

  “We have crimes from the past and those in the present. I can say with certainty, Mortimer committed the first crimes: Clara, Debra and Lorraine. I cannot say for certain the crimes of the present were committed by him: Doctor Samuels, the girls at the kennel, Lucinda and Elaine… though they are in keeping with his brutal nature.”

  “But all the evidence points to him: the shoes and the cane,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “What else can you say about him?”

  “There are some things I can say, and some things I can deduce.”

  “Like?”

  “At the beginning, Mortimer knew little about my life here in Sand City in the nineteen seventies, hence the random killings. Clearly, he was not present in those early days.”

  “Okay.”

  “We might conjecture that he is very much in the present, across several timelines perhaps, but here with us.”

  “Across timelines?”

  “He may be hiding in the cracks between realities.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He may be attempting to manipulate this reality in subtle ways... to disguise himself.”

  “Whose reality?”

  “Well, everyone’s. I am immune to this strategy and it seems you are too. But others?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  “The past changes the present. He merely has to slip back, change some small event and the present seems completely different, yes?”

  “Like Durbin sees the world?”

  “Yes, like Durbin. He goes from not knowing me, to me being his chief, to me being a special consultant. He does not recall the differences.”