No True Echo (7 page)

Liphook had hoped the museum would bring back memories but it had changed too much from the original. The smart museum, with its extensions and explanations, was a far cry from the rundown farmhouse. Besides, her main memory of that long day wasn't the farmhouse but the hospital.

She remembered how Sergeant Copeland had ambled in and immediately made a beeline for the vending machine. It seemed to Liphook that he was very calm, given the situation. Certainly he looked calmer than she felt. It had been his day off, which explained why he was wearing a snug-fitting wool jumper and a pair of shorts.

‘Well, Liphook, you did want excitement,' he said, pondering which of the chocolate bars on offer was worth his money. ‘What's the situation, then?'

‘One dead, three unconscious,' replied Liphook.

‘Unconscious? Why?'

‘The doctors can't work it out. Two of them have gunshot wounds but that doesn't appear to be connected. It's like they've fallen asleep with their eyes open. All three are still breathing, but their heart rates are unnaturally slow.'

‘Sounds a bit peculiar.'

‘It's very peculiar,' said Liphook. ‘Neither of the gunshot victims sustained serious injuries to the head. The shooter shows no sign of injury at all and yet it's as though they are all in a coma. Also, two of the victims are minors, sir.'

‘Children?' said Sergeant Copeland.

‘Yes.'

Having finally decided on the chocolate bar he wanted, Copeland dropped the money into the slot and hit the buttons to extract it. ‘Do you want anything, Liphook?'

‘I would, actually, sir, yes.' She chose the biggest bar in the machine, feeling in desperate need of something sweet to replace the bitter aftertaste left by the long wait for the ambulance to arrive, with only the wide-eyed lifeless bodies for company.

‘So who's who then?' asked Copeland.

‘The shooter is called Patrick Cornish. He's an English teacher at Wellcome Valley school.'

‘That's funny, you were only there the other day, weren't you?'

‘Sir, none of this is funny,' Liphook said grimly.

‘No, of course not. I just meant it was a coincidence. So, an armed English teacher. Who did he shoot?'

‘Edward Dane, one of his pupils. He lives with his grandmother, Ruby Dane.'

‘Yes, I know her,' said Copeland. ‘She's a local artist. All those splashes are not to my taste really but she's a nice lady.'

‘She says Eddie sometimes gets a lift home with Mr Cornish. She has never heard Eddie talk about this girl, though. Nor does she know why they stole a car.'

‘A car theft too? This must feel like Christmas for you,' said Copeland.

‘Christmas usually involves less blood, sir.'

‘Of course. Yes, of course.' Sergeant Copeland laughed awkwardly.

‘There was a girl involved in the car theft too. She is the other gunshot victim.'

‘Terrible. A local girl?'

‘Actually, no, sir. This is the missing girl we spoke about yesterday, Lauren Bliss. The station is trying to contact her parents.'

‘How remarkable. What was it? Some kind of Bonnie and Clyde romance?'

‘This is where it gets really strange. It seems that Lauren had a second identity. She put on a red wig and caught a train using the name Scarlett White. She arrived here on Wednesday and started school on Thursday.'

‘What do you mean
started school
? You can't just start a school like that.' Sergeant Copeland clicked his fingers, forgetting he had been holding a coin and sending it flying across the waiting room.

Liphook explained what she had learned. ‘A couple calling themselves Mr and Mrs White bought a house here in the spring. They applied to the school, then Scarlett came for an interview back in the summer.'

‘Have you spoken to them?'

‘Yes, sir. The Whites live in Scotland. I managed to establish that they did not buy a house in Wellcome Valley, nor did they come here in the spring. In fact, they had never heard of the place. Also, their daughter Scarlett is not missing.'

Sergeant Copeland pulled a biscuit from his top pocket with the flourish of a third-rate magician, and looked at it with a satisfied smile. ‘Identity theft?'

‘I believe so, sir, but do you remember how you told me Lauren came here in the summer? The dates coincide with the school interview.'

‘Remarkable. What about our corpse? How does he fit in to this ripe old pick-and-mix bucket?'

‘He's the owner of the property. His name is David Maguire. No one knows much about him. Bit of a hermit. Apparently he used to work at the university as a professor of particle physics, but he lost his job years ago and he's kept himself to himself ever since.'

Seeing a paint-splattered woman enter the waiting room, Sergeant Copeland raised his hand and said, ‘Hello, Ruby. How are you doing?'

‘I've been better, Jim. No one can tell me what's going on.'

‘I'm so sorry,' said Sergeant Copeland. ‘It is a terrible business. Terrible.'

‘Yes.'

‘Can I get you anything?' he asked. ‘A cup of tea, perhaps?'

‘No, thank you.' She turned to Liphook. ‘You asked me if I could think of anything that could explain any of this. There is one thing you should know.'

‘Yes? What is it?' asked Liphook.

‘There's a possibility that David Maguire is Eddie's father.'

It was another miserable day in the valley. The sky was dark and I was as far back in the bus shelter as I could go to avoid the rain. I knew it was the morning because I was dressed for school and waiting for the bus, but what morning was it? How had I got here? I racked my brain for the last thing I could remember.

The bullet.

I placed my hand on the point it had entered my body. No pain. I pulled up my shirt. There was no wound. No blood.

The arrival of the school bus took me by surprise and showered my legs with puddle water.

‘Ready, Eddie?' said Bill. ‘Then jump on board and hold on steady, Eddie.'

I stared back at him. ‘What day is it?'

‘What?'

‘Today? What day is it?'

‘Thursday,' he replied. ‘Come on, Eddie. I can't stand around discussing days with you. We've got places to go.'

I got onto the bus and sat down by Angus. ‘Morning, Eddie,' he said. ‘Anything amazing to report?'

‘What?' I said.

‘Anything amazing since yesterday?' he said.

‘What day was yesterday?' I asked.

‘Are you all right?'

‘I don't know. What day was yesterday?'

‘Yesterday was Wednesday. Today is Thursday. I imagine tomorrow will be Friday.'

‘What happened to half term?'

‘That's next week.'

‘What? It's the Thursday before half term? Hold on, is this a joke?'

‘You tell me,' said Angus. ‘You're the one saying all this stuff.'

‘So you're telling me that today is two days ago, tomorrow is yesterday and what was today hasn't happened yet?'

Angus gave me a small round of applause. ‘Very good.'

‘I'm serious,' I said. ‘What's going on?'

Angus looked around him and said in his best Sherlock Holmes voice, ‘It appears to be some kind of school bus. It's morning and we're wearing school uniform and therefore, Watson, I conclude that we are going to school.'

‘But I've done all this before,' I said.

‘Oh, I get it,' said Angus. ‘This is the old
we've done this before
routine. Very good.'

All around me, I could see the same people in the same seats, having the same conversations. Angus drew a face in the condensation. The lips dripped down and made it look like a vampire, just as before. We were approaching the spot where we picked up Scarlett, but Bill wasn't slowing down.

I stood up. ‘Hey.'

‘No standing on the bus,' shouted Bill.

‘You didn't stop for her,' I yelled.

‘Who?' replied Bill.

‘Scarlett.'

‘Who's Scarlett?' asked Angus.

‘She  …  She lives  …  Well, I don't know where she lives but he's supposed to stop for her and she's supposed to get on. That's what happens. That's what happened before.'

‘Now, Eddie, I'm not saying I'm not enjoying this, but there is a tiny element of it that is a little bit mental.'

‘I've been here before,' I said. ‘I've already lived through this day.'

‘Great. So what's going to happen then?' said Angus.

‘Er  … ' I had to think. Apart from Scarlett arriving, what had happened on Thursday? ‘We're going to have a police talk from an officer called  …  called  …  What's her name?' It seemed ridiculous I could have forgotten, but the more I tried to access it, the further it retreated to the back of my mind.

‘You should be careful how you use such a precious gift,' said Angus. ‘You have obviously been given great knowledge.'

I ran through everything that I could tell him that would convince him, but once you removed Scarlett, what was there? Should I tell him about the lessons we would sit through or who would get told off for talking? I couldn't think of anything that he couldn't put down to a lucky guess.

‘So, great and noble time traveller,' said Angus, ‘tell us about the future. Are there flying cars? Please say there are flying cars.'

‘By Saturday? Funnily enough, no, although there is a stolen car with a cat in the back.'

‘It's a start, I suppose.'

The strangest thing about reliving that morning was how it didn't feel all that strange. I had spent my life reliving the same day over and over, listening to the same names being read off the register by our form teacher, then filing in and out of the same lessons.

This was only different because it was
exactly
the same. I studied each repetition with interest. I tried to recall the exact details but a lot of what I saw and heard was new to me. I was beginning to realise how little I listened.

On the way into the hall, the police officer caught my eye and, for a fleeting moment, I thought she recognised me but she looked away and I understood that we were strangers.

Seeing Mrs Lewis stand up, we fell quiet and she said, ‘Now, everyone, we have a very special guest so let's show her what a polite and well-behaved school we are as we welcome Officer Liphook.'

It was more obvious to me this time how nervous she was.

‘Community,' she began. ‘Who can tell me what that word means?'

I glanced around. Was I really the only one who had heard all this before? I was still half expecting everyone to start laughing and reveal that it was all an elaborate joke.

‘Looking out for each other.'

Two rows in front of me, a girl played with her friend's hair before a warning look from a teacher stopped her.

‘Being selfless.'

Along my row, a boy fiddled with a grubby tissue, dropped it, picked it up, then used it to wipe his nose.

‘Sticking to the rules.'

Why was I back here? Had I been shot dead? Was this what happened after death? Were the dead forced to relive the last few days of their lives and, if that was the case, why wasn't Scarlett here?

Scarlett,
I thought. She was the key. Her absence was the main difference, as far as I could tell. If she wasn't here then I wasn't reliving the exact same day after all. I was reliving a different version of it. I remembered her saying something to Cornish about different versions back at the farmhouse. What did any of it mean, and how was I supposed to make sense of it?

‘Eddie Dane,' said Mrs Lewis. ‘Have you a question for Officer Liphook?'

Everyone turned to look at me. It took me a moment to realise why. I had my hand up. I think I had been trying to prove to myself that I could do things differently.

‘What's your question?' asked PC Liphook.

I had sat through the same speech twice, yet I had no idea what she had been saying. ‘I have a question about car theft,' I said. It was the first thing that came to mind.

‘Yes? What is it?'

I wondered if PC Liphook actually looked grateful for the interruption.

‘Er, how serious a crime is it?'

‘Very serious,' replied PC Liphook.

Mrs Lewis was giving me a warning stare but I continued, ‘What's worst out of stealing a car, breaking into a house, driving without a license or accidentally kidnapping a cat?'

The question got a big laugh and a thumbs-up from Angus but a threatening snarl from Mrs Lewis.

‘That's quite a list,' said PC Liphook. ‘May I ask the reason for your question?'

Mrs Lewis answered for me. ‘Sorry, Officer Liphook, you appear to be the lucky recipient of one of Eddie's jokes.'

‘It's not a joke,' I said. ‘I'm interested. I mean, what if the keys were left in the car?'

‘That's enough,' said Mrs Lewis.

‘It's all right,' said PC Liphook. ‘I can answer that one. Opportunity is not an excuse. It is a reason. Most crimes are opportunistic. That doesn't make them any less serious.'

‘But you said that murder is the worst crime because it's done on purpose. That means you think it's worse to kill someone after thinking about it rather than just because you had the opportunity.'

‘Did I say that?'

She had not said that. Not on this Thursday.

Mrs Lewis was on her feet again. ‘I think, Eddie, that rather than second-guessing what our guest is going to say maybe you should try listening. With your ears. At the end, I'm sure PC Liphook will happily take your questions.'

‘Er  … ' Liphook looked down at her notes and flicked through several cards, then said, ‘Maybe this is a good time for questions.'

She picked the first hand to go up. ‘Yes, what's your question?'

‘Have you ever shot anyone?'