No True Echo (6 page)

During the trial, Liphook had been asked to give an exact account of how she had come to arrive on the scene the day David Maguire was killed. She had begun with the first call out of the day, when an elderly lady by the name of Mrs Spinks reported her car as stolen from outside the corner shop.

Liphook parked her patrol car and walked into the shop, where Mrs Spinks was in a state of mild hysteria. The shop owner was doing his best to comfort her but he looked extremely relieved to hand over responsibility to a uniformed officer. Liphook quickly established the facts. Mrs Spinks was seventy-eight years old and her car had been stolen. Not the crime of the century but better than nothing.

‘Where was the vehicle when it was taken?' Liphook hoped she sounded calm, serious and yet fully in control of the situation.

‘There. Where you've parked now,' exclaimed Mrs Spinks, pointing out of the window. ‘My poor darling. He could be anywhere.'

‘And where were you?'

‘Inside the shop, you silly girl. Where else would I do my shopping? Are you sure you're a real police officer?'

‘Very much so, Mrs Spinks, but I do need to establish exactly what happened.'

‘I parked my car outside and came in to buy a bottle of the blue top. Not the green top. He doesn't like the green top and no one likes the red top really, do they? Well, supermodels, perhaps.'

Liphook was having difficulty following her. ‘Are you talking about milk?'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘You were buying milk for your car?'

‘Don't be ridiculous. Why would I do that? The milk was for Rascal.'

‘Who's Rascal?' Liphook was getting confused.

‘My cat. That's why you're here. Keep up, dear.'

‘I thought you reported a stolen car.'

‘He said you wouldn't care if I only told you about Rascal.' She pointed to the shopkeeper. ‘Is that true? I've paid taxes all my life to keep you lot in jobs. Don't you care about cats?'

The shopkeeper smiled sympathetically and shrugged.

Liphook turned back to Mrs Spinks. ‘So you drove here to buy milk for your cat and then what?'

‘They took Rascal.'

‘From your house?'

‘Why would they go to my house?'

‘Mrs Spinks, was your cat in the car?'

‘Yes, he likes to sit in the back seat.' A worried expression crossed the old lady's face. ‘I say, do you suppose it was professional cat thieves? Rascal's parents were both pedigree, you know.'

‘I think it's more likely they wanted the car and didn't realise it had a cat in the back.'

‘How will he ever find his way home?' asked Mrs Spinks. ‘He never goes very far. He'll be terrified.'

‘Mrs Spinks, please try to stay calm. So how long did you leave your car unattended?'

‘Only a couple of minutes. How long do you think it takes to buy milk?'

‘A couple of minutes is very fast for someone to break into a car, hot-wire it and drive off.'

‘What does hot-wire mean?'

‘It's how a car thief starts a car without a key.'

Mrs Spinks looked quizzically at Liphook. ‘Why wouldn't they use the key?'

Liphook looked up from her notepad. ‘How would they get the key?'

‘It was in the car. I find that if I take it out I can never find it again.'

‘Are you saying that you left the car outside the shop with the key in the ignition?'

‘Of course. How else could the engine be running?'

‘The engine was running?' exclaimed Liphook.

‘Oh yes, Rascal likes the vibration. I suppose it's a bit like purring, isn't it? Poor Rascal, he'll be frightened out of his wits.'

‘I promise that we'll do everything we can to recover your car and your cat, but I will need your registration number.'

‘Rascal doesn't have a registration number.'

‘Of the car.'

‘I have no idea,' said Mrs Spinks dismissively.

‘A description, then.'

‘Yes, of course. Dark tabby, a cross between a Maine Coon and a Siamese. Very friendly but a little jealous sometimes. Likes fish but not the processed kind. I get it from the fishmongers.'

Liphook jotted down the details. ‘And the car?'

‘Oh, I see. It's red and it has a cat in the back.'

Scarlett unlocked the small red car parked outside Cornish's house and got in.

‘You drive?' I said.

It was amazing. Each time I thought she couldn't do anything else to surprise me, she did something even more surprising.

‘I really need you to go away now,' she replied, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips.

I quickly got into the car before she had the chance to drive off without me. ‘You're not old enough to drive,' I said.

‘And you're not stupid enough to get into a stolen car,' she replied.

‘It's stolen?'

‘Yes. Do you still want to come? This is your last chance to get out. I really don't have time to argue with you.'

‘Let's go, then.'

‘Eddie Dane, you are the stubbornest person I have ever met.'

Weirdly, even though she shouted the words and banged the dashboard in frustration, I didn't really feel as though she was genuinely angry. She sounded amused, as though she was repeating an often-told joke between us. I liked it. She turned the key and started the engine with the confidence of someone who had been starting cars all her life.

‘You were joking about it being stolen, weren't you?' I said.

‘Which answer do you want?'

‘The one that means you've borrowed your mum's car or something.'

‘Fine. Then I did that.'

‘That's not true, is it?'

‘What do you think?'

‘Did the car key get delivered by another one of your magic motorbike people?' I asked.

‘Don't call him that, and no. It was in the ignition.' The noise the car made when Scarlett put her foot down suggested it was unused to being driven at such speed. Everything rattled in a terrified protest against her driving.

‘Did Bill teach you to drive?'

‘Actually, I had a very good teacher,' she replied, keeping her eyes on the road.

I gripped the side as she took another corner without slowing down.

‘Aren't there protocols about this?' I asked.

‘To be honest there are protocols about more or less everything, but you've got to have a little bit of fun too, otherwise what's the point? I'm sorry, am I making you nervous?'

The truth was that Scarlett didn't need to break the speed limit in a stolen car to make me feel nervous, but it wasn't the kind of nervous that made me want to get away. It was the kind of nervous that made me want to stay for ever.

‘Do you remember me saying my mum died in a car crash?' I said. ‘I didn't mean that it was a family tradition or anything.'

She laughed. ‘What do you know about your mother, Eddie?'

‘Not much.'

‘I mean, what did she do? Did she have a job?'

‘I don't think so. She was still at university when she had me. She dropped out, I think.'

‘Hold on,' said Scarlett. ‘We've gone past the turning.'

She slammed on the brakes and I felt my whole body jerk forward then rock back. Scarlett looked over her shoulder and put the car into reverse along the road, then turned right onto a dirt track that cut through a field. Having rained continually for the past three days, we hadn't got far before the car began to skid and slide in the mud, unable to go any further.

Scarlett switched off the ignition and undid her seatbelt. ‘We'll have to walk,' she said. ‘When you get out of the car, get out quickly and close the door behind you straight away.'

‘Why?'

‘So you don't let the cat out.'

‘What cat?'

‘That cat.'

She pointed over her shoulder where a terrified-looking cat was digging its claws into the backseat. I reached down and inspected the collar around its neck. The cat was quaking in fear. He hissed at me as I read his tag.

‘He's called Rascal,' I said, stroking his head.

‘Well, let's keep Rascal in the car. It's bad enough stealing an old lady's car, but losing her cat would be awful.'

Scarlett was walking fast and I was doing my best to keep up, but I was also trying to avoid the really deep puddles, which involved a lot of hopping and jumping.

‘Do you have to do that?' she asked.

‘I'm trying not to get my socks wet,' I replied. ‘So is your life always like this?'

‘These days it is, yes. Things are more complicated where I'm from.'

‘You mean that we're all simple here in the valley?'

‘Things are simpler here, yes.'

I made a big jump to the other side of the path to avoid an enormous muddy puddle, which Scarlett had just walked straight through.

‘You look like a demented frog,' she said.

‘A demented frog?' I replied, but Scarlett wasn't laughing.

We were approaching a cluster of trees at the edge of the field. I had never been to this spot before. It was the sort of place that tourists liked. The valley was full of holiday cottages for city folk to hire so they could ramble through nature and get away from the hustle and bustle of their normal lives – an idea that made no sense to me.

‘Just over that ridge is a farmhouse,' said Scarlett. ‘I'm going to need to go in and you have to stay put. No matter what happens.'

‘What might happen?'

‘This is ridiculous,' she exclaimed. ‘Why did I even let you come along with me? You're  …  well, you're you.'

‘Thanks  …  I think.'

‘I didn't mean it as a compliment. Listen, Eddie, something is happening in the house down there that is going to change everything and Cornish is trying to prevent it. When I succeed in stopping him, I may not come back. Do you understand?'

‘Not really.'

She sighed. ‘But do you understand that I'm asking you not to follow me?'

‘Yes, I understand that.'

The rain was taking a break so I lowered my hood, only to feel a huge drop land on my head when we stepped under the trees. I followed Scarlett to a point where we could see the farmhouse she had been talking about.

The walls were covered in ivy and the brickwork was patchy and old. The whole place looked mouldy, neglected and rundown, but a light on inside indicated it was not as abandoned as it appeared.

‘Stupid girl. Why did I come this way?' Scarlett muttered, looking at the steep, muddy slope down to the farmhouse.

‘Rascal is managing all right.' I pointed out the cat scampering down the hill, then jumping over the stream that ran in front of the house.

‘The cat,' she whispered. ‘This is bad.'

‘You're really worried about the cat, aren't you?'

‘The cat couldn't have got out of the car itself, which means someone let it out, which means someone is behind us.'

She said it so seriously it made me want to laugh, but from the way she was looking at me I didn't think this would go down well.

Then we heard the gunshot.

‘Stay here,' said Scarlett, and she went skidding, slipping and sliding down the slope, reaching the bottom in seconds. She glanced back up at me, to check that I hadn't followed, then jumped over the stream and went into the farmhouse.

‘Stop right there.'

The voice came from behind me. I turned and saw, standing behind me, the police officer who had come to our school on Thursday.

‘Was it you who let Rascal out of the car?' I asked.

‘What?'

‘The cat.'

‘Yes. It was an accident,' she replied. ‘My name is PC Liphook. I need to talk to you about the stolen car parked in the field up there. This is very serious but if you do everything I tell you now, we don't have to make matters any worse. I heard a gunshot.'

‘Yes, it came from the farmhouse,' I said.

‘Is that where your girlfriend went?'

‘She's not my girlfriend. I do like her and I think she likes me – you know, in an irritated kind of way, but I don't think it's black and white. You know, not like penguins.'

‘Why are you talking about penguins?'

‘It seems to be what I do when I get nervous.'

‘Is there an easier way down?'

‘I don't know. I've never been here before.'

I could tell Liphook was considering the best thing to do next but the sound of a second gunshot made her spring into action.

‘Stay here. Don't move.'

She turned and ran along the top of the ridge to find a safer way down. The gunshot echoed around the valley and through my brain. All I could think was that Scarlett was inside that house. I began down the slope but lost my footing almost immediately. I stumbled and slipped. I grabbed a tree trunk and looked down. From this angle I could see the farmhouse door clearly. The bark of the tree dug into my palm but the pain vanished as I recognised the dark green door.

I had seen it before. I had stared at that door many times. It was the door from a past I had never known.

It was the door from the photograph of my mother.

I don't know how I reached the bottom of the slope but, by the time I did, I was wet and muddy. I staggered through the stream to the farmhouse and reached out my hand to the green door. I half believed it to be some kind of mirage that would vanish at my touch, but my fingers connected with it. It felt almost disappointingly real as I pushed it open and heard voices inside.

‘You're only making matters worse for yourself, Patrick,' said Scarlett.

‘This isn't about me,' Cornish replied. ‘My actions are for the greater good.'

The door got stuck on a floorboard, but I pushed it harder, and stepped into a gloomy room with piles of books everywhere, stacked up like a city skyline. They covered the floor, shelves and furniture. I could feel the ticklish threat of a sneeze building up in my nose from the dust. Hearing something quietly banging in the next room, I pushed the second door open and saw Rascal in the kitchen, trying to get at a terrified mouse trapped inside a clear plastic mousetrap. The voices were coming from behind the door at the other end of the room.

‘I'm sorry,' said Cornish. ‘You have left us no choice but to take matters into our own hands.'

‘Why? Because you disagree with something you don't understand?' said Scarlett.

‘We understand that it's wrong to allow the rich to live whatever lives they choose again and again. We understand that echo technology is the single biggest threat to all of our futures.'

‘Patrick, I've seen more of the future than you. Things have changed. There's much more to this than you could ever understand but, most importantly, the fact I've jumped back further than you should tell you that this line of action is doomed to failure.'

‘I don't believe you.'

‘It's not a case of belief. I promise you that this echo jump has only created a new timeline and even here, with both Melody and Maguire dead, guess what? Echo technology will still be discovered. You can't stop it.'

‘We can if we terminate him in the originating timeline.'

‘It's frightening how little you understand. I'll bet you don't even know how you ended up here in this version, do you? You jumped back to a different world. How did that happen?'

‘My comrades and I understand enough. We know that this needs to be stopped.'

‘Patrick, please. Put the gun down.'

She said the words calmly, but I felt anything but calm. I rushed to help her but my foot caught a pile of books and sent it crashing to the ground, meaning I stumbled into the room and smacked my head on a grey cabinet. I staggered back and saw computers, graphs, strange humming machines and charts. Cornish was holding an old farmer's gun, which he was pointing at Scarlett who was sitting on the ground, her back against a cabinet like the one I had just head-butted. She held her right hand to her stomach and I could see dark blood leaking out between her fingers. She looked in a bad way, but not as bad as the man next to her who was lying face down, his white lab coat bloodstained and torn by the bullet that had taken his life.

‘Eddie, I told you not to come in.' Scarlett winced with pain as she spoke.

‘You've been shot,' I said. In the corner of the room was an overturned chair and camera tripod. I couldn't make sense of any of it.

‘This doesn't concern you,' she replied.

‘Doesn't it?' said Cornish. ‘Doesn't it concern him more than anyone?'

‘No,' she said firmly. ‘Not here. Not this Eddie. What you're doing doesn't make any sense.'

‘Sense is the thing we're trying to reclaim.'

‘You can save the speeches and the flawed logic for your hearing.'

I couldn't follow much of what they were saying but I was clear on one thing: we were sharing a room with a dead man and Cornish had killed him.

‘Have you gone mad, sir?' I asked.

‘No, Eddie,' he said. ‘I know exactly what I'm doing.'

‘This is a complicated situation,' said Scarlett, ‘and it's one I need to deal with in accordance with protocols.'

‘You have protocols for this?' I exclaimed. I was trying not to look at the dead body but I couldn't tear my eyes away.

‘Eddie, you have to get out now,' said Scarlett.

‘Not without you,' I said.

I was trying to stall for time. Any second, I thought, the police officer would be here to sort everything out.

‘Patrick, you're leaving me no choice,' said Scarlett.

‘There's always a choice,' said Cornish.

Whatever happened next occurred too fast for me to work out the precise order of events. I could not say if Cornish pulled the trigger before I dived in front of the bullet or if I stepped in his way before he fired. All I knew was the agony of the bullet ripping into my chest.

And the shock.

And the fear.