The Trouble With Time Read online

  “Actually, on second thoughts, I have got something to say to you. My dad was a good man. Maybe not always on the right side of the law, but he did his best with what life doled out to him, which wasn’t much.” Tears came into her eyes and she blinked them away furiously. “When I got older he started to talk to me properly, tell me stuff he didn’t tell anyone else. About his life and everything. He used to wait for me outside school and we’d go to a café or the park.” Jace was aware of Gwen stiffening beside him. She hadn’t known about this. “And according to him, there’s a bigger villain inside bleeding IEMA than you’ll ever find outside of it. You’re all a load of wankers.”

  Jace said, “If you have any information –” but Saffron had already spun on her heel and headed for the bedroom. She slammed the door behind her.

  Jace was back in the derelict warehouse, except it was darker and smaller and partly his flat. He stood alone on the mezzanine looking down over the railing to where Quinn stood in a pool of light with Scott. At any moment, a bad, a terrible thing was going to happen. As Jace thought, I have to do something, he woke, heart pumping fast.

  “Light.” He sat up. The clock told him it was a quarter to five. For a moment he didn’t move. He breathed deeply, feeling disturbed. His subconscious was trying to get some message through to his conscious brain. Something wasn’t right about McGuire’s death and the missing TiTrav. He got out of bed, sat at his computer and dictated notes in an attempt to make sense of what he knew. He started with the obvious:

  Unless there is some simple explanation, like they’ve been sent to the lab without the Records man knowing, the bullets from McGuire’s body have gone missing.

  Either Quinn or Scott killed McGuire.

  Possibility a) Scott killed McGuire, even though he is certain he didn’t. My opinion yesterday was that he did kill him by mistake.

  Possibility b) Quinn killed McGuire, but thinks Scott did.

  Possibility c) Quinn killed McGuire accidentally, but is too vain to admit it and prefers to blame Scott.

  Possibility d) Quinn deliberately killed McGuire, and off-loaded the blame on to Scott. That is why he insisted on Scott coming along on the raid and kept him close, even though Scott is so inexperienced that he was more likely to be a liability than any help. And there is no way to prove whose bullet was the fatal one, since they have gone missing. (Unless of course they turn up again. See first point.)

  Saffron said that her father had told her there was somebody at IEMA who was corrupt.

  Jace reread Possibility d) uneasily. Taken together with the first and last points it seemed horribly plausible; it fitted every fact bar one; the fact that he’d worked with, liked and respected Quinn for three years, and couldn’t believe he would commit premeditated murder. He knew him too well; he’d been to his house in Fulham, met his wife and children. Also, this theory opened up yet more unanswered questions. He carried on dictating, watching the words patter on to the screen.

  Why would Quinn want McGuire dead?

  Why did McGuire panic when he saw Quinn (and Scott)? Panic to the point of jumping over a railing, knowing it was a ten foot drop on to concrete? He hadn’t been worried by my arresting him, he was sullen and resigned. Why would two more time cops make such a difference? Time cops he didn’t know. Or perhaps he did . . . Did he recognize Quinn (or Scott)? If so, where from?

  What happened to the TiTrav? There definitely was a TiTrav, because the alert told us someone in McGuire’s lodgings had switched one on for two minutes and forty-three seconds before turning it off again. Was there another person present, the real owner of the TiTrav, who had now vamoosed? But that landlady . . . she was so indignant at the idea of anyone in her house committing timecrime and, as she put it, jeopardizing everyone’s future. Selfish and irresponsible, she’d called it. She wasn’t lying.

  So, if McGuire had had the TiTrav on Thursday, where the hell was it now? Ryker hadn’t got it. Of course, Farouk could have been right, and McGuire had hidden it somewhere else, in which case it might well never turn up. But he went to see Ryker, so maybe it had already been sold on through Ryker before IEMA got there. If that was the case, he could dismiss Possibility d) and his nascent suspicions of Quinn – and he really wanted to do that. Jace was happy with his job, and his boss, and with Kayla. He was happy with his life, just as it was. He did not want to rock the boat.

  Jace got up from the desk, had a quick shower, didn’t bother shaving, dressed and got a pod back to Ryker’s.

  CHAPTER 6

  McGuire’s dream

  A grey dawn was breaking as Jace reached Ryker’s railway arch once more. The place looked even more decrepit by daylight. He rang the bell, and with a sense of déjà vu amplified by lack of sleep, waited for the dog’s ferocious barking. After thirty seconds he pushed the bell again. The dog stopped barking.

  “What d’you want?” Ryker’s voice.

  “I’d like a word.”

  “What about?”

  “About something I don’t want to shout through a door.”

  Once more the bolts scraped back and Ryker stood unfriendly on the threshold, dressed in a grey vest and tracksuit bottoms, rumpled with sleep. He looked at Jace without enthusiasm, then craned to see beyond him as if he had expected more people. “Forgotten something? Thought of somewhere you didn’t search? Got a new lead?”

  “None of those. Can I come in?”

  “Let’s see your warrant.”

  “I haven’t got one. This isn’t strictly IEMA business.”

  Ryker thought about this, then jerked his head and Jace followed him inside. They both sat, looking at each other. The dog curled up, his head on Ryker’s feet, eyes on Jace. Jace said, “This is off the record. Anything you tell me won’t go any further than this room.”

  “Oh yes. What d’you think I’m going to tell you?”

  “I know McGuire had a TiTrav. He brought it with him when he came to see you last Thursday.”

  “That’s your version of events. Not mine.”

  Jace continued, “He didn’t have it on him when he died. You haven’t got it. So who has?”

  Ryker looked at him in disbelief. “You came back here on your own, thinking I’d tell you what I didn’t tell your boss two days ago? How does that work? You’re wasting your time, mate.”

  Jace faced the fact that he wasn’t going to get anything out of Ryker without giving an explanation in exchange. But sharing his suspicions about Quinn – particularly when he could be entirely mistaken – with a man like Ryker was not a sensible idea. He sat for a moment, not saying anything. He shouldn’t have come. What had made him think Ryker would help? He was here because he couldn’t think of any other avenue to explore. This was another wasted journey.

  Ryker was studying him, head a little on one side. Suddenly his eyes narrowed, and an incredulous half smile appeared on his face. “You think one of your lot has got it.” He stared at Jace. “Well, fuck me pink and call me a radish. That’s what you’re doing back here on your own.”

  Only the extreme disquiet which had brought Jace there made him say, reluctantly, “It’s true . . . I do have a suspicion that . . . one of my colleagues in the department . . . may have the TiTrav. If I’m right, then what McGuire told you may help me find out who it is.” Ryker eyed him, assessing him, saying nothing. “If I’m right, then that’s why McGuire’s dead.”

  After a pause, Ryker said, “Did you know he had a daughter? Saffron. She’s seventeen.”

  “Yes.”

  “He wasn’t much of a parent, left home when she was little, but he kept in touch. She’ll miss him.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Turn out your pockets.”

  Jace put his dataphone on the desk. That was all he had with him. Ryker took it over to the safe and put it inside, then picked something up from a shelf. “First thing I did Sunday morning after you’d gone, checked you hadn’t left a bug behind. Stand up.”

  Jace stood, and
Ryker ran the scanner carefully over him, both sides. Satisfied Jace wasn’t wearing a concealed listening device, he turned it off and sat back in his chair. “If you do find who it is, I’m not saying this in court, okay? I’ll deny telling you anything.”

  “Understood.”

  “Okay, then.” He said nothing for a minute. Jace waited. Then Ryker began to talk.

  “Pete came here Friday all hyped up, and showed me a TiTrav. He wanted to get shot of it fast, and he wanted fifty million for it. He said the buyer had to arrange for the money to look like he’d come into it lawfully, so he could explain where it came from if anyone got curious. He’d thought it all out. I told him, as it happens I know someone who’d pay that and arrange it to look kosher, but he could get more if he gave me time to contact a few likely customers and get them into a bidding war. But he didn’t want to wait. He saw himself buying a nice house outside of London where Saffy could come and stay, and buying her her own little flat here. Setting her up, maybe paying for university too if she fancied it. He wouldn’t have had much change from fifty million after doing that, with property the price it is, but that’s really all he wanted. He was excited about it, about changing his life and Saffy’s, and wanted to do it fast.” Ryker got up. “I need a cup of tea. Want some?”

  “Thanks.”

  Ryker went over to the kitchen. The kitchen unit whose side Farouk had kicked in was now back against the wall, hardboard nailed neatly over the hole. Jace glanced round the room. The stickers that were reachable had gone, but a scattering at the top of the arched ceiling remained. Everything else had been put back the way it had been when they arrived. This must have taken Ryker hours. For the first time Jace understood that a visit from his team caused quite a lot of inconvenience to the person visited, even if no arrest followed.

  Ryker returned with two mugs of tea, pushed one towards Jace and continued with his story.

  “Pete went to turn it on to show me it worked, but I stopped him. He didn’t know they come with a tracker. He said he’d already turned it on for a couple of minutes. I told him not to go back home, IEMA would be looking for him right now. Poor bugger, he went white as a sheet. I took the tracker out for him –”

  “It’s not possible to remove the tracker.”

  Ryker shrugged. “That’s what your engineers think. And I unlocked it and put in a new password. I said he could leave the TiTrav with me, but he didn’t want to. I said I’d put the deal through as quick as I could, and try to get him a bit more money to cover the identity change he was going to need. I told him I had a contact who could set him up with a chip, no problem, but he wasn’t happy. He was afraid they’d watch Saffy to get to him. It spoiled his plan.”

  “So was that the last time you saw him?”

  “Yes. Not the last time I heard from him, though. He rang me a few hours later, told me the deal was off, he’d had to give the TiTrav to a man who’d put the frighteners on him, threatened to hack his arm off and take it if he didn’t. I said, couldn’t you have bargained with him, got at least something out of it for yourself, and he said no. That was the end of his dream for him and Saffy. The one time he got lucky, that was how it ended, poor sod.” Ryker drained his tea and put the mug down. “Then you shot him.”

  “I didn’t shoot him.”

  “One of you lot did.”

  “Who was the man who took the TiTrav?”

  “Can’t tell you that. Pete didn’t know him.”

  “Did he say what he looked like? His age? Anything?”

  “No.”

  “Where did McGuire get the TiTrav?”

  “No idea.”

  “Who was your buyer?”

  Ryker gave him a hard look. “You don’t need to know that. I’ve told you what you came here for. Now nail the bastard.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Jace’s nightmare

  Shit. The more Jace thought about it, the more uncertain he became about what to do next. His observations, and the unsubstantiated assertions – he couldn’t call them facts – he’d collected from Saffron and Ryker seemed to point to Quinn’s guilt. But it was all circumstantial, and Ryker was hardly a reliable witness – plus he’d refuse to give evidence.

  So what should he do? His instinct was to have it out with Quinn, because the idea that he had stolen a TiTrav and committed murder to conceal it was simply preposterous. Quinn had been something of a role model for Jace. He had a formidable intellect and charisma in spades, dominating any company he was in with his presence and wit. He carried off the latest Regency-influenced fashions he favoured with aplomb, and ran his department with an amiable manner and absolute authority.

  Probably the man was innocent, and, after laughing at Jace’s gullibility, would be able to offer some perfectly reasonable explanation. But if he was gamekeeper turned poacher, the stakes were stratospheric, and a suspicious Jace would be a problem to be neutralized. Like McGuire . . .

  Another option: Jace could put the matter into the hands of one of Quinn’s superiors at IEMA. Quinn headed the department, so it would have to be someone outside it. Two problems; he didn’t know any of the higher management personally, so wasn’t sure whom to approach. And to convince them he would need to tell them Ryker’s story, and he had told Ryker he wouldn’t do that. Timecrime carried a mandatory minimum sentence of fifteen years. If he was vague about his source – pretend a stranger had contacted him anonymously out of the blue – the allegations would carry even less weight. Plus these people, like him, had known, liked and worked with Quinn for years. They’d appointed him, for goodness’ sake. They were going to find it as difficult as Jace did to believe he was corrupt.

  He picked up his phone to tell Kayla his suspicions and ask her advice, then changed his mind. The knowledge might endanger her. He decided to leave it for the moment; go in to work as normal, keep his eyes open, and wait for a solution to come to him. Perhaps he should put off doing anything until the Americans arrived, which they would within days if the TiTrav was not found. He could tell them his suspicions in confidence, knowing they would not be predisposed in Quinn’s favour.

  The day passed slowly, the investigation proceeding without results. Jace didn’t mention the missing bullets. He found it difficult to concentrate. He was staring into space wondering how long it would be before the Americans arrived, when Quinn walked past him on his way to the door. Without breaking step he murmured,

  “I’m choosing to believe that behind that blank exterior, a hundred billion neurons are firing to some purpose.”

  Jace started guiltily and got back to scanning the list of phone calls McGuire had made. Working backwards, he had reached November of the year before. He wasn’t going to find anything. He was frowning at the list trying to focus, mind elsewhere, when a hand touched his shoulder.

  “What’s the matter?” Kayla, looking at him shrewdly.

  “Nothing. Lack of sleep. Lack of weekend.”

  “Are you sure that’s all? You look . . . kind of preoccupied. That’s not like you.”

  “I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

  Kayla checked to see that Quinn wasn’t around, and pulled up a chair next to Jace. She ran a finger down his face and spoke softly. “How about I come and cook you something nice this evening? You won’t have to do a thing. Then an early night . . .”

  She’d already noticed his preoccupation; he imagined her that evening, delicately, almost imperceptibly probing until she guessed what the problem was. Kayla was smart. He said, “Maybe later in the week? I’m too knackered to enjoy it tonight.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “That’d be a first. Okay, don’t tell me. I’ll work out what’s eating you for myself.”

  So that evening after an unproductive day Jace went home alone, poured himself a whiskey and lay back on the sofa, weary and anxious, mind going round like a hamster on a wheel. His eyes closed . . .

  He was back in the derelict warehouse, on the dark mezzanine looking down. Quinn and Scott stood i
n a pool of light. Again, the overwhelming feeling of dread, of something frightful about to happen. As he watched, Quinn pulled out his gun and fired. Scott collapsed into a heap on the concrete then disappeared. Quinn turned and looked up at Jace. The gun lifted.

  Jace woke, sweating, heart pounding. Christ. He swung his legs off the sofa and glanced at the time. Nearly seven o’clock. Beyond the balcony daylight still shone on his view of London rooftops. What was his subconscious trying to tell him now? That Scott was in danger? Why should he be?

  Suddenly it came to him. Suppose the TiTrav never turned up, which it wouldn’t if Quinn had it. The department would not write it off, or even leave it on the books as an unsolved case the way the police did. Tracking it down would remain an absolute priority, because eliminating illegal time travel was what they did, their raison d’être. The American team would arrive and start examining everything all over again in minute detail, going back to first principles. The longer the hunt went on, the wider the net would be cast and the wilder the theories that would be considered – including the possibility that someone corrupt in the department had got hold of it.

  If, however, Scott disappeared and the TiTrav never surfaced, there would be a strong supposition that he had obtained it from McGuire, ‘accidentally’ killed him to cover up, and fled. His expertise with a pistol would add credibility to this hypothesis. He was new in the team, too new for anyone to have got to know what he was like. He was the ideal fall guy.

  Jace got up, buckled his gun belt, and headed for the flats where they had dropped off Scott the Sunday before.

  CHAPTER 8