like an old friend to me somehow, and for now, the only person who could confirm that I was not losing my mind.
The inspector had slipped into silence however. I glanced over at him when I could. He was not his cheerful self, the one I met yesterday on the drive to Fairhaven. His friendly, kind face had given way to a harder visage, perhaps wrought from tragedy. There was also a smoldering contempt in his eyes. I could easily sense something was very different about his bearing. Some of his confidence had been replaced by doubt.
“I will make only one promise, Mr Jardel.”
“And what’s that?”
“I will always speak the truth to you.”
“But you’ll lie to others?”
Inspector Fynn burst out laughing despite his seemingly somber mood. “I suppose you must discover this for yourself.” He paused to give me a long sideways glance. “Do you recall the first two victims?”
I nodded.
“To put it as simply as possible, these women are not from your time. They are from nineteen seventy-five, roughly speaking. But something, or perhaps someone, has dragged them into the future, dead.”
“What?”
“It seems impossible to you, I understand. I must explain this slowly.”
“Time travel?”
“Not in the sense you may think of it.”
“What then?” I pulled into a parking spot next to a police cruiser and Durbin’s Charger. I shut off the engine and turned to look at the inspector. He was definitely not pulling my leg.
“I prefer to call it place traveling ... but let me begin by saying, these two women have been restored to their proper lives. Here, look for yourself.” Fynn handed me a folder. There they were, the two murdered women from my dream, or my memory: Clara Hobbs, dental hygienist, retired, currently residing in Syosset, NY. And Debra Helling-Long, mother of four, grandmother of one, living in Fairhaven. Each file had two photos: those of the young women they were, and the old women they had become.
“What about all the others?” I asked.
“What others?”
“In Sweden, Denmark… Holland…”
“You remember these as well?”
“I do.”
“It’s all been fixed, I assure you.”
“Fixed? But how?”
“This is the difficult bit to explain.” He tried to smile but the expression of sadness on his face refused to give way. “It has been a tedious task in some respects, time consuming, yet I owe these women their lives at the very least.”
“I’m not understanding any of this.”
“We must discuss it further, I agree. But for now, Mr Jardel, please say nothing to Detective Durbin.”
“Why not?”
Chief Inspector Fynn tried to smile again but failed. “It would only serve to confuse him, I’m sure… and perhaps make you appear… well, how should I say it?”
“Crazy?”
“Yes,” the inspector said and gave off a small chuckle. “And what else do you recall?”
“What, did you forget what happened yesterday?”
“Not at all. But I can only remember things that happened to me, events I have lived through, experienced myself.”
“Well, there was the dog…”
“The dog?”
“Yeah… um, first victim, Clara, disappeared at North Hollow Beach while walking her dog.”
“How do you know this?”
“It was in the paper in nineteen seventy-five, the police blotter.”
“And why does this persist in your mind?”
“Two weeks ago, when they found her body… there was a dog too. It was a stray… but thirty-eight years later?”
“Yes, Roxy, if memory serves me. What else have you determined?”
“Nothing really, unless you count corpsicles.”
“What are you saying?”
“I had this loopy idea about how the bodies were frozen and then thawed out in the present.”
Fynn seemed to consider this but said nothing more. Instead, he got out of the car. I did the same. The inspector donned a tweed flat cap, and wrestled into a black trench coat.
“We’re not talking alien abductions, right?”
Fynn gave me an odd look.
“You are from
The inspector had slipped into silence however. I glanced over at him when I could. He was not his cheerful self, the one I met yesterday on the drive to Fairhaven. His friendly, kind face had given way to a harder visage, perhaps wrought from tragedy. There was also a smoldering contempt in his eyes. I could easily sense something was very different about his bearing. Some of his confidence had been replaced by doubt.
“I will make only one promise, Mr Jardel.”
“And what’s that?”
“I will always speak the truth to you.”
“But you’ll lie to others?”
Inspector Fynn burst out laughing despite his seemingly somber mood. “I suppose you must discover this for yourself.” He paused to give me a long sideways glance. “Do you recall the first two victims?”
I nodded.
“To put it as simply as possible, these women are not from your time. They are from nineteen seventy-five, roughly speaking. But something, or perhaps someone, has dragged them into the future, dead.”
“What?”
“It seems impossible to you, I understand. I must explain this slowly.”
“Time travel?”
“Not in the sense you may think of it.”
“What then?” I pulled into a parking spot next to a police cruiser and Durbin’s Charger. I shut off the engine and turned to look at the inspector. He was definitely not pulling my leg.
“I prefer to call it place traveling ... but let me begin by saying, these two women have been restored to their proper lives. Here, look for yourself.” Fynn handed me a folder. There they were, the two murdered women from my dream, or my memory: Clara Hobbs, dental hygienist, retired, currently residing in Syosset, NY. And Debra Helling-Long, mother of four, grandmother of one, living in Fairhaven. Each file had two photos: those of the young women they were, and the old women they had become.
“What about all the others?” I asked.
“What others?”
“In Sweden, Denmark… Holland…”
“You remember these as well?”
“I do.”
“It’s all been fixed, I assure you.”
“Fixed? But how?”
“This is the difficult bit to explain.” He tried to smile but the expression of sadness on his face refused to give way. “It has been a tedious task in some respects, time consuming, yet I owe these women their lives at the very least.”
“I’m not understanding any of this.”
“We must discuss it further, I agree. But for now, Mr Jardel, please say nothing to Detective Durbin.”
“Why not?”
Chief Inspector Fynn tried to smile again but failed. “It would only serve to confuse him, I’m sure… and perhaps make you appear… well, how should I say it?”
“Crazy?”
“Yes,” the inspector said and gave off a small chuckle. “And what else do you recall?”
“What, did you forget what happened yesterday?”
“Not at all. But I can only remember things that happened to me, events I have lived through, experienced myself.”
“Well, there was the dog…”
“The dog?”
“Yeah… um, first victim, Clara, disappeared at North Hollow Beach while walking her dog.”
“How do you know this?”
“It was in the paper in nineteen seventy-five, the police blotter.”
“And why does this persist in your mind?”
“Two weeks ago, when they found her body… there was a dog too. It was a stray… but thirty-eight years later?”
“Yes, Roxy, if memory serves me. What else have you determined?”
“Nothing really, unless you count corpsicles.”
“What are you saying?”
“I had this loopy idea about how the bodies were frozen and then thawed out in the present.”
Fynn seemed to consider this but said nothing more. Instead, he got out of the car. I did the same. The inspector donned a tweed flat cap, and wrestled into a black trench coat.
“We’re not talking alien abductions, right?”
Fynn gave me an odd look.
“You are from
Similar Books
