Dawn was still castigating Neil’s ignorance of law when he hung up and started to drive away. He did not have time to listen to people telling him things he already knew. He realised she would take that action badly, but that could wait.
Pulling off the street just as the Special Firearms Officers descended on the apartment block, Neil began his journey across town; there was only one place where Gordon Cooper could have accomplished this.
Neil wound his window down as he drove, the chilled winter air drying his perspiration and cooling his blood. Even with the overwhelming irrationality of the situation, everything around him suddenly made sense.
Mister Grayson had only been on one work night out. The fact had seemed inconsequential from the start, but now answered everything. Why? Because he had met someone on that first evening and after that, every other night out presented an opportunity to see them again. A person whose partner was guaranteed to be busy, because they worked at Hybrid; Gordon Cooper. Mister Grayson was having an affair with his fiancé. It appeared Mister Grayson was something of the serial bigamist.
Neil could only imagine what had happened. Somehow, Gordon discovered the affair. Maybe by chance, maybe by planning. However the discovery was made, its consequences were dire.
It seemed as if Gordon Cooper did not take particularly warmly to the idea of someone sleeping with his betrothed. Not only had he tied her to his spare bed, but he watched her slowly waste away, her life draining into the squalid mire of her own puke and excrement. He could not imagine what that poor girl went through in her last days for her indiscretions. From the stab marks to her abdomen though, it was clear that when her end came, it came quickly. He could only hope she did not suffer for too long before it did.
If Gordon Cooper was willing to do that to someone he loved, he was more than capable of doing what he had done to those people in the cellar. The only thing Neil needed to know now was who they were.
Exiting his vehicle and running across the road, Neil was surprised to find the front door to Hybrid still open, even though it was well after six.
He stepped into the pitch-black foyer, the halogen spots and screens that illuminated the space on his first visit now stilled.
Not wanting to alert anyone to his presence, Neil crept across the darkened room and found the double doors leading to the research suite.
Hunkered down with his back against the wall of the corridor beyond, he skidded sideways like a crab, scuttling toward the faint light drawing through the doors at the far end.
As he reached the corridor’s terminus, he began to pick out voices. One fevered, almost squealing in anger as he spoke, the other slurred and vague.
Neil placed his palm against the door and gently pushed. To his delight, it inched open quietly. When just enough gap was present to get a look into the room, he jammed his foot against it and peered out.
The research suite was still, not a single ceiling light on. At the far end of the room to his right, Neil could see a few screens washing the back wall in a soft blue glow. Behind them, the two strange glass booths were illuminated; their corners pulsing alternately in vivid white and red.
Sat in front of the machines, Artimus slumped forward in an office chair, as Gordon Cooper paced up and down in front of him, gesticulating wildly. His hair was a mess, the outfit he was wearing looking moth-eared and worn. This was clearly not a man in full control of his faculties.
As Gordon twisted, turning back to walk by Artimus again, he exposed his other side, a large bloodstain covering the side of his top and running down one leg.
Sensing his opportunity, Neil slid into the room and closed the door. Ducking into cover behind the banks of desks, he began to move his way forward to get into a better position to eavesdrop on the conversation.
“Remaining angry is helping no one.” said Artimus, with a hiccup, as Neil closed to within fifteen feet. “Besides, I’m almost out of alcohol again.”
“You said you needed that for medicinal purposes!” said Gordon, looking disgustedly at Artimus. “I thought you were going to use it on your stab wound.”
“You want me to waste a perfectly serviceable sixteen year old scotch on a trifling little graze like this?” said Artimus, with a guffaw that descended to coughing. “You are more of an idiot than I originally surmised!”
Gordon stopped pacing and turned to face Artimus, leaning over with menace. “Do you want stabbing again?”
“What a gracious offer!” said Artimus, his voice loaded with sarcasm. “Perhaps a light slap twixt the ears and jab to the sternum as well?”
“What is your fucking problem, man?” said Gordon, raising an arm to strike Artimus and then lowering it again. “You know what, I’m not going to waste my effort.”
“Giving up already Gordon?” said Artimus, disdainfully. “You did come across as a cop out when I first met you. It’s no wonder Mandy decided to find herself a man worthy of her.”
“Michael fucking Grayson! Worthy of her?” said Gordon, laughing maniacally. “We dealt with Michael Grayson, and his cheery little family. We showed them!”
We? thought Neil. Talking about yourself in the third person was not a good sign of mental stability. Gordon had truly lost it.
Neil stole a glance at Artimus. Even though his head was bowed and he was cable tied to the chair he was sitting in, there was still colour to his cheeks. Maybe the stab wound was not as life threatening as he feared. On the plus side, Gordon Cooper’s physique could easily be described as a decent steak short of ten stone, so he should pose no threat to Neil physically. However, the real issue was that knife. Did he chance it as Artimus obviously had and end up stabbed and tied to a chair, or did he wait for a window of opportunity when the knife could be taken out of play?
“Your master telling you what to do now is he? I suppose he is older than you.” said Artimus, coughing again.
“Master? I think you’ll find we’re working as a team.”
“Believe what you will. I can tell someone who’s taking orders from some distance boy, and you are one of them.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up!” shouted Gordon, clasping his head. “If I was allowed to kill you…”
“See what I mean?” said Artimus, cutting Gordon short. “Little grunt takes his orders.”
Gordon growled, kicking a waste bin across the room. “Fuck this shit! I’m going outside for a smoke.”
“Catch you when you get back Grunty.” said Artimus, playfully. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Still grumbling under his breath, Gordon strode straight passed the crouching Neil and out of the research suite; the doors clattering as he bashed through them.
Even before the sound died away, Neil nipped out of his hiding place and crouched in front of Artimus.
The first thing that hit him, other than the overpowering stench of alcohol, was the amount of blood down his left hand side. A knife wound, maybe only a couple of inches wide just underneath his ribcage, was still drooling ochre down his blood-soaked shirt and out across his now ruined tweed trousers.
“Hold on Artimus.” said Neil, tracing the cable ties and scanning the local desks for a pair of scissors.
“Neil?” said Artimus, his face contorted in confusion. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Saving your ass.” said Neil, spying an envelope knife and beginning the arduous task of cutting the plastic connectors.
“You’ve incapacitated Gordon I take?”
“Not yet, no.” said Neil, breaking through one on Artimus ankle and moving to one near his calf. “He’s outside having a smoke. If I can get you out of here before he gets back…”
“Not that Gordon you idiot!” said Artimus, stopping Neil. “The other Gordon.”
“Which other Gordon?” said Neil, looking up.
“Oh my lord!” said Artimus, closing his eyes. “You still don’t get this do you?”
Before Neil could respond, a sound, like the descending whine of a mosquito passing by and disappea
ring into the distance echoed around the room, accompanied by a flash so bright it forced him to close his eyes.
As Neil reopened them, he thought he heard a squealing noise, akin to a door opening.
“You sir,” said Artimus, staring at Neil, “are a fucking idiot and have probably killed us all.”
Chapter 37
Saving Time
Out of Time Page 36
