Sand City Murders (61 page)

“I’m afraid you have that rather backwards, Mr Chamblis,” Mortimer said and tightened his grip on Eleanor. “You’re a greedy little man, easy to motivate and manipulate.”

Apparently this remark was too much for Chamblis. His hand came up and he took a wide swing at Mortimer, though the latter seemed to be expecting exactly that. Mortimer deftly dropped Eleanor and stepped back. Chamblis’ fist went into the column. The jackal cane ended up in Mortimer’s grasp. He smiled, this time it was genuine. He held up his prize, looking quite pleased with himself and suddenly leapt to the stage. Mortimer clamored onto one of the amplifiers. He jumped into the air and was gone in an instant. Fynn and I looked at each other, and then around at the dance floor. No one else seemed to notice anything amiss, however Chamblis was conspicuously absent. I glanced over and saw Eleanor. She was sitting again next to Annabel at the table.

Only a few moments passed when I saw Mortimer again. He stepped through the doors leading from the beach and walked back to Eleanor. He whispered something in her ear and she looked up at him, again she laughed. Fynn and I strode over.

“Ah yes, where were we?” Mortimer asked when we came close enough. He was clutching his cane with a certain glee. “Let us put Fynn’s second rule of travel to the test… his famous tread lightly credo…” He smiled down at Eleanor.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Mortimer looked at me. “Surely Tractus has bored you with his famous rules, eh? Ha, well I have my own… and they are quite the opposite: Always go back. Change as much as you can. Don’t stay long, and… there are countless timelines, not just the one.” Mortimer paused to chuckle. “Of course, we do agree upon the fifth rule: Avoid dying at all costs.”

Fynn said nothing and I felt too startled to come up with a coherent reply. Mortimer continued: “I gather from your expression, you are awestruck by my traveling prowess, eh Fynn? I can dance circles around you now.” Mortimer laughed. “And it’s time to keep my promise to Eleanor.”

“What promise?” I asked.

“To bring her back, of course... to her youth.”

She glanced up at him adoringly… “To be twenty again…” Eleanor laughed, she was almost giddy. “It’s so much more than I could ever dream. To know what I know, and start again? Can you understand what this means?”

It slowly dawned on me:
Eleanor was Mortimer’s accomplice all this time, and the willing one. She was witness to everything from behind her giant mahogany desk.

“He’s lying. He can’t bring anyone back— only forward,” I cautioned.

Eleanor’s expression changed somewhat. Fear and doubt swept across her face for a moment.

“Don’t listen to him, dearest Eleanor… we’ve known each other for such a long time, eh? Have I ever led you astray?”

“It’s a trick. He can’t really bring you back. He’s killed at least eight people. Do you really think
any promise
matters to him?”

“She won’t believe you, Mr Jardel. And I’ve killed no one, not to her memory.” Mortimer sneered at me, then looked back to Eleanor with his false smile.

“He’s lying, El,” I persisted.

“But I am not lying. I no longer travel the same way as Fynn. No more of his silly jumping backs.”

“What are you saying?” Fynn asked this time.

“Simply, that all my jumps are hard ones now.”

“But why, and how? This is impossible.” Fynn was astonished.

“It would seem so to you of course,” Mortimer said but refused to elaborate further.

Fynn gave him a suspicious glance. “So I am conversing with a doppelgänger, I presume?”

“That’s quite likely, as much as you are loath to admit it.”

“What do you intend to do then?”

“Simply, keep my promise.”

“To her or to me?”

“I’ve never promised you anything,” Mortimer replied in a cruel voice.

“Let her go, please,” I said. “She doesn’t remember anything.”

Mortimer seemed surprised by this. “Apparently her memory is not as good as yours, Mr Jardel. I will admit hers is rather selective. She only recalls certain details and not others. For example, when I brought her beloved daughter back to life, she seemed none the wiser. Pearls before swine, as it were. I had to resort to more elaborate measures… I brought Helen to the present day and employed her at the
Chronicle
.”

“How is that possible?”

“It took some doing, I’ll admit... but in the end, it did spark lovely Eleanor’s memory. Didn’t it, my dear?”

“How?” I asked.

“How? Well, it was quite easy: heavy sedation, a well placed leap and a few days of, what would you call it? Perhaps re-orientation is a good word.” Mortimer glanced at my expression. “No doubt you’ve heard I was an outstanding doctor for a good many years, yes?”

“Are you talking about Lucinda?”

“I’m quite sure that name means nothing to me.”

“But you killed her and left her in the middle of the swamp.”

“Ah, you are meaning Helen, I suppose.”

“Helen?”

“Eleanor’s daughter, Helen Moriches. Very sad, yes… but Eleanor was being so stubborn… it was as if her own memory was failing. I had to teach her a lesson when she started to doubt me. I had to demonstrate how fleeting life is... poor Helen, here today, gone tomorrow.” Mortimer mocked a tragic face. “Perhaps you’d like to see her again?” he asked and leapt onto the table. Mortimer jumped into thin air. Seconds later he reappeared from the outside doors and led a woman to the middle of the dance floor. She was about twenty or so and dressed in a hospital gown. Mortimer was holding her upright. Eleanor turned to look. “Helen…” she whispered and put her hand to her mouth. Mortimer let go, the poor girl swayed for an instant, then collapsed to the ground in a heap.

It was hard to say how anyone else in the room was perceiving these events other than Fynn and I. Most of the guests seemed quite oblivious. That was not the case now however. Someone let off a sharp cry of alarm. I saw Durbin rush over to the fallen girl, and Doctor Hackney a moment later.

Mortimer returned to where Eleanor was sitting. “Quite a commotion,” he said. “Well, it’s time for us to go, my dear.” Quite gently he picked her up in his arms, stood on the table, jumped and vanished again. I turned to Fynn, uncomprehendingly. He looked back with an equivalent expression.

“His skill, his ability is well beyond mine. I do not understand how this is possible.”

“Can’t you stop him?”

“There’s nothing I can do at the moment,” Fynn said with a helpless look.

Mortimer appeared again. Apparently, Lucinda or Helen was no longer on the dance floor. I kept thinking about the vase at Partners, the one I expected to shatter before my eyes.

“Where did you take her?” I asked.

“I merely kept my promise.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I now? And how would you know, Mr Jardel?”

“If you took her back, like you promised, I would not be standing here right now.”

“Well, I’m only slightly impressed that you’ve figured that much out. Oops, poor Eleanor.”

“Where is she?”

“Well she’s not here anymore…” He smiled at me.

It gave me the chills.

“And who will be next, hmm?” Mortimer looked around the room. “One of your friends, Mr Jardel? He grabbed my face in his hand and started to point it around the dance floor. He compelled me to cast my gaze: Amy, Alyson, Jo-Anne, Anika, Suzy…

I was utterly horrified.

“I must say, it’s so very nice to have an audience for a change, someone who appreciates what I can do, or, if not appreciates, then at least… notices.” Mortimer laughed wildly. He jumped from the dance floor, down the few steps toward the bar, and blinked out of existence again. This time, he returned with a rather foolish grin on his face, chilling nonetheless. “Well, if it isn’t the little dog who started all this trouble… Hmm, maybe I should take him back to sweet Clara and start everything over again. How would that be? Oh, probably rather boring… we should pursue something new, something novel and exciting, I think. Not rehash the same old ground.” Mortimer was gone in an instant yet again. The next time he appeared, his smile was the same, but he was holding a pair of women’s shoes, a pair of silver high heels. He placed them in the middle of the dance floor and walked over to Fynn.

 No one else in the room seemed to notice anything at all, though to me, it almost felt as if time had skipped a beat. I heard Mortimer talk to Fynn as he passed by. “I left you something out on the beach. Your very own personal nightmare...”

Fynn’s response was unexpected. He walked to the bar and ordered a double scotch, then perched himself on a stool with his back to Mortimer.

“Honestly, I don’t really care what you did, Javelin. What will I find, another corpse, another murdered girl? I don’t care anymore… I am bored by you.”

Mortimer’s reaction was surprising as well. His face screwed up into anger. “I can do worse, if you’d like.”

“Yes, by all means, do your worst. You’ve become quite tiresome. You are just a forgetful fool who flitters from here to there like a restless housefly, and an obnoxious one at that. I for one have had enough.” Fynn threw back the rest of his drink. “I’m leaving now.”

“Wait… where are you going?” Mortimer asked.

“Away, away from this place. I am weary of cleaning up after your ridiculous antics, these dreadful shenanigans. You have a gift and you squander it… In the end you are barking mad. There is no hope for you at all.”

I began to understand Fynn’s approach. It seemed he was goading Mortimer to anger quite purposely, and it seemed quite effective. Mortimer’s rage boiled over, if his face was anything to go by. He raised his cane to inflict a savage blow to the back of Fynn’s head, but the inspector was too quick for him. He had been watching all the while in the mirrored wall. As the cane came down, Fynn swung around and grabbed it by the shaft. Then, in a single motion, wrested it from Mortimer’s grasp by turning his wrist sharply. The latter cringed and stooped, obviously in some pain. Fynn stood over him holding the cane now.

The inspector’s face then collapsed into anguish, utterly. He could hold it back no longer, fully aware of what Mortimer had boasted about. Carrying the jackal, Fynn started walking slowly to the exit. He made his way to the beach stoically. I followed, and behind me, Mortimer. I also noticed Durbin and Joey starting in our direction.

It wasn’t immediately apparent what Javelin Mortimer had done. I found Fynn out on the shore a good distance away from the Beachcomber. He was standing by one of the lifeguard chairs. I ran to him. On the sand I spotted a pair of black stilettos, placed neatly together. There was someone there, a woman lying in the wooden seat, barefoot. I climbed up for a closer look. It was Anika. She was dead. I didn’t know what to say. Fynn just stood there looking out at the pounding surf. The endless, white foamy waves caught the full glare of the moonlight. I heard Joey and Durbin running towards us. I glanced over and also saw Mortimer, though he was skulking some distance away. I was just about to leap down when Fynn turned to stop me.

“Don’t jump,” he said like some over-protective dad. “It’s too high.”

I was unsure what to do exactly. This was another crime scene yet that seemed unimportant. I gently scooped Anika up and lowered her into Fynn’s waiting arms. I could see his face at last. There was no fury there, no anger, just grave resignation and sorrow. He rocked her back and forth in his arms for a time, then lovingly placed his daughter onto the sand. Tears began to stream down his face. Fynn was weeping now, outright. He took his daughter’s hand and kissed it gently. He was whispering something to her, probably in Dutch. He kissed her forehead and sat down beside her. Then he did something rather odd and I couldn’t quite figure out what it was. I climbed down from the lifeguard chair slowly, then realized, Fynn was taking off his shoes. He was going barefoot as well.

 Durbin came towards us at a full run. He inspected the victim and got on his cell phone instantly. Other people were running in our direction too. Fynn faced me again and nodded a little, and if he could have smiled, he probably would have. Instead, he rose, turned, and walked slowly down the beach, leaving the glare of the Beachcomber, fading into the darkness.

“Wait.” I heard Mortimer scream. Fynn paid him no heed. It was almost a pathetic scene, Fynn striding down the beach with Mortimer following many yards behind. I knew Mortimer didn’t want to follow, but I knew he had no where else to go. He had to follow his cane.

Durbin and Joey just stared at me uncomprehendingly. Then we all heard a shout from quite a distance. Clearly it was Fynn, but he had uttered only a single word and it wasn’t in English:
Vuurvliegje!

“What the hell did he say?” Durbin turned to me and asked.

I had to think about it for a second. “I know… I know where he’s going.”

“Where?” Joey asked.

“The quarry.”

chapter 38

old quarry

Proud of my memory, I jogged along the bike path until I came upon the old quarry, though I had no idea I was being followed at the time… I walked slowly into the clearing, the picnic spot. A giant full moon cast its glow everywhere with eerie effect. The crater walls were outlined in shimmering light along every sharp edge that faced southeast. They glistened and cut through the darkness. The still, black water held a perfect reflection, a second moon in a second sky. Nor was it alone. Other lights were immediately apparent, small and dancing, tiny blinking lights of a pale yellowish green. They sparked on and off relentlessly, silently. The quarry was filled with fireflies, hundreds if not thousands hovered above the water and deep into the forest. Surely a sight to behold, not for Mortimer though, as he appeared to be blindfolded.

Fynn was sitting at a picnic table; the inspector had his back to me but I think he was fiddling with his compass. His adversary was atop a nearby table, in the middle like a lamb to slaughter, knees up, hands behind his back and tied to his ankles with a small length of cord. The jackal cane was some yards away at the shoreline, laying across a tree stump. Fynn turned to greet me. “Well, here at last, good evening again, Patrick,” he said rather graciously, though it seemed a bit painful as well.