Sand City Murders (10 page)

“What?” I refused to meet his eyes.

“You know my name.” The inspector had a funny expression on his face. “We’ve met before.”

“Oh sorry, my mistake.” I felt utterly confused. Of course I knew this guy, but I couldn’t think how exactly. I noticed he was wearing a bow tie, but a different color than yesterday’s. “Must have been a dream or something… I need a cup of coffee, I guess. Another one, a strong one…” I said and tried to laugh.

The two policemen gave off meager chuckles.

“So… like I was saying, Inspector Fynn is gonna be our temporary chief for the next few months,” Durbin repeated.

“I cannot possibly hope to take over for Chief Arantez in his absence,” the inspector added graciously.

“I’m pretty sure our other chief would say exactly the same thing. Right Jardel?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay well, I’d like you to be the Inspector’s…”

“Ambassador,” Fynn chose the term.

“Yeah, that’s the word, ambassador, a goodwill ambassador. You know, show him around a little. No one knows this town better than you.”

“Where are you staying?” I stammered the question. My sense of reality felt more than a bit frayed.

“At the Blue Dunes, room three-o-nine.”

“Three-o-nine? I don’t think there is a room three-o-nine,” I said, and something vague came to memory, something about Evan James, and a zoning variance.

“I assure you, I’m on the third floor in the corner, and the room has a lovely view of the ocean,” Fynn said condescendingly, but smiled.

I looked down at my bag and felt strangely compelled to open it and search for photographs, county records, the police blotter… a missing persons report, no, one, two, three missing persons… Some part of me knew it was a futile task, like searching for an errant sock in a dryer. I stared at Fynn and tried hard to remember him. A succession of scenes flittered through my mind: driving, talking, walking on the beach, something about a bar and a giant party… somebody else walking on water...

Durbin interrupted my thoughts. “Did you eat yet, Patrick? The inspector didn’t, and told me he was famished. Something about jet lag, right Inspector Fynn?”

“Yes, something like that. How do you say in your country? ‘I am as hungry as a horse.’”

Not sure I ever heard that expression before, but breakfast seemed like a good idea.

“Well, anyhow, I’m taking you both out to George’s. My treat,” Durbin offered, and gave us a big squinty grin.

“George’s?” Fynn asked.

“Our local diner… always open, well, mostly.”

There was a sharp knock on the door. Sergeant Manuel stepped in. “Chief, I mean detective… um… dispatch just called in a possible homicide.”

“What?” Durbin asked with absolute disbelief.

“A woman’s body was just found up at Sunset Park.” Manuel seemed just as shocked as the rest of us.

***

Outside the Sand City Police station a squad car sat ready, flashing blues and all, but Durbin chose to ride up in his own dark gray Charger, preferring to flex a little neo-muscle of his own. Rain was beginning to fall again, hard.

“Where the hell is Powell?” he shouted from his rolled-down window. “Can’t wait all day.”

“Powell is on vacation,” an officer replied unseen.

“Right. I totally forgot that…” Durbin slapped his own forehead as if that might improve his memory. “Patrick, can you help us out? Got your camera?”

“Sure…” I replied, “meet you up there…” I started towards my car.

Inspector Fynn’s eyes narrowed. He turned to Durbin. “Ah, Mr Jardel drives a Saab… this makes me feel very much at home. I will ride with him, if you don’t mind?”

“Huh? Yeah sure, I’ll see you up there,” Durbin said unthinkingly.

“A moment, Mr Jardel. I am to ride with you,” he said loudly enough to get my attention. His voice changed to a whisper as he approached: “I’d like to speak with you privately, if I may.”

He sat and buckled in, then gave me a long look. A small smile seemed to cross his lips. “Tell me, Mr Jardel, you have a very good memory, yes?”

“I guess I do… It’s a blessing and a curse…”
I had said these words before.

“How so?”

“I’m sure there are a lot of things I’d rather forget.”

Inspector Fynn paused for a moment. “And tell me, you often experience this feeling of deja vu?”

“That’s kind of an odd question.” But he was right. I just did at that exact second.

“Indulge me, please.”

“Well, to be honest, probably every day of my life, at least—”

“Very interesting,” the inspector cut me off.

“Why is that interesting?”

“The wrong word perhaps… but unusual, yes?”

“I guess… Not sure I like it all that much.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know, it’s um, an odd feeling, unsettling, I guess.”

“And when you sleep… do you recall your dreams in the morning?”

“Pretty much. I keep a journal— takes me ten minutes every day just to write them all down.” I looked at him hard. “These are strange questions.”

“I apologize. I have no wish to make you uncomfortable. But I will say, I believe you to be a very rare individual, very rare indeed.”

I wasn’t at all sure what he was getting at. The best way to Sunset Park was left on Court Street and onto Captain’s Way for about a mile. A right on North Bayview and up another couple of miles to the bluffs. There was no official parking up there, though the road was a bit wider at the top of the hill where local residents would pull off. In the summer, there were no cars permitted at all. It was a park to walk to, or take your bike.

“Tell me, how much of our meeting yesterday do you remember?”

“What?” I replied as we turned onto Captain’s Way. My head was swimming.

“Our meeting yesterday with your Chief Arantez and Detective Durbin,” he said blandly.

I swiveled in my seat and tried to get a better look at Fynn. He seemed to be grinning now. “Wait. You remember that? How? You were there?”

“I was.”

Confused is not the right word, neither is astonished. Maybe bewildered came closer. Oddly though, I felt a certain anger, as if I were the brunt of some joke that everybody got but me. I dove down deep to find words. “Listen inspector, ever since you showed up, a lot of weird stuff has been going on.”

“Since I showed up?”

“Well yeah.”

“Perhaps strange events have always taken place, but you are only now noticing them.”

“Okay, have it your way.”

“You might say your perception of these events has altered since my arrival.”

“Fair enough. So, tell me what’s going on.”

“This is difficult and complicated. You would not believe me even if I offered up a thorough explanation.”

“Try me.”

“Very well… but this is not the time, nor the place. We are on our way to a crime scene.”

I turned onto North Bayview. “Okay, well, if my memory is working, this will be the third murder.”

“Yes. The
Barefoot Killer
as you call him.”

“You know about this?”

“I do.” Fynn said and put his hand on my shoulder as if to comfort me. “Do you recall driving to Fairhaven yesterday?”

“Yes... and looking at the records, and finding a photograph that matched.”

“Good.”

“Good?” I practically yelled. “How come Durbin doesn’t remember anything?” My anger surfaced. “And where the hell is Arantez? Holland? Really?”

“As I said, I believe you to be an extremely rare individual. I’ve met only three or four like you in my long life.” The inspector eyed me carefully. “Patrick, your memory is quite extraordinary.”

“Memory or not, can you please explain this so it makes some sense. Right now, I feel like I’m going crazy.” I shifted into a lower gear as we approached the bluffs. “What the hell is going on?”

“Ah, my friend, this is so difficult for you, I know… and for me, no picnic to explain, as you might say.”

“Try, please.” For some odd reason I felt like I could trust the inspector. It seemed like I had known him longer than only a day. I had just put my fate, my sanity, my life in his hands. I guess I was feeling a little more than vulnerable. Still, Fynn was 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 Earth?”

“Yes. The Netherlands…”

“And nothing to do with clones?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

 I thought for a second. My reality was crashing in on itself. “Okay, I have a quick question then,” I said. “If you fixed the other murders like you say, why didn’t you fix this one?”

“A very good question. I have tried many times but I have been unable to prevent it yet.”

“Yet?”

“Yes.” Fynn made a face. “I will say however, that I am well-acquainted with this victim.”

“You know who it is already?”

“Yes, Lorraine Luis.”

“I remember that name from yesterday, I think... And she is?”

“My wife.”

The inspector and I crossed the bike path and climbed up a few wooden railroad ties up to the park. I had lots more to say, lots more to ask, but my mind was not fully functional. I followed Fynn from behind. He walked slowly, carefully choosing each step it seemed to me. I looked at his left hand, he was indeed wearing a plain gold wedding band.

chapter 9

sunset park

Sunset Park overlooked the bay. It had a different name originally, Wright’s Park, I think. Named after some sea captain from the days of yore. And why it wasn’t Dubois Park is another story completely. It should have been. It was always green at least, and everything there was something Valmont had imported and planted long ago. Sunset Park was its functional name. Almost everyday, somebody was there, and usually many people. They gathered at dusk to sit on the little benches and watch the sun slip below the horizon. Make that every day, weather permitting. It wasn’t more than a couple of hundred yards square. At the entrance was a big hunk of granite with a faded metal plaque commemorating the original founder of Sand City: Joshua Higgins. Why the park wasn’t named for him is also a bit of a mystery to me. Behind the monument was a concentric ring of slates that enclosed a lawn, dotted with tasteful shrubs and flower boxes come May. Most flowers had yet to bloom. Maybe a couple snowdrops and crocuses were peeking their heads up from the ground. The circular path arched along the edge of a hundred foot bluff that faced west more or less. And here they would gather, the sunset watchers, either sprawled out on the grass, or sitting on a sponsored wooden bench if one were available.