The Tirnano - Book 1 'FINN'

by Peter Emmerson

  “Never mind, give me everything from half an hour before the accident up to now.”

  “Take a few minutes,” the burly Sergeant said.

  “No probs, I’ll wait, I’m taking the Slug back to Aberdeen,” she said once the data transfer had begun, giving the rat-run its nick-name, and passing him a card, “Here’s my number, give me a call if that woman comes up with anything interesting.”

  Little did the blonde witness know, but her entire life was soon to be turned inside out and scrutinised with a very fine toothed comb.

  ~

  “C’mon Paul, let’s go,” Jeanne said pocketing the memory stick.

  “’K mum.”

  “Don’t forget; gi’us a call if that woman comes up with anything out of the ordinary.”

  The sergeant responded with a curt “Ma’am,” triggered the inner door release, and then turned his attention back to the screens and his paperwork. Jeanne closed the large double outer doors, and she and Paul walked across the car park towards the Range Rover.

  “Can I sit up front, mum?”

  “Sure honey,” Jeanne responded absentmindedly, her thoughts on the female and baby. Should be at the institute by now, that Yank better look after them, or I’ll have his guts for garters.

  The road out of town was fairly busy, Jeanne remembered all the twists and turns as though it had been only yesterday that she had last driven along the ‘Slug’. Before long they were on the tree lined South Deeside road, following the banks of the River Dee back towards Aberdeen.

  “You hungry?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t get to finish my breakfast, you rushing out of the house like that,” Paul said accusingly.

  “Okay, I quite fancy a couple of Rowies. Let’s see if that baker is still there,” just off Union Street, they used to do real bramers in there.

  “What’s a Rowie?”

  “It’s a type of pastry, you’ll see, we loved them, your dad and I. Mind you I guess my arteries will start screaming in protest when they see that much cholesterol heading their way.” Jeanne chuckled and concentrated her attention on the twisting road.

  Paul pressed the radio ON button, music pumped out from the wrap round speakers, it was a current top twenty hit with a heavy bass line. Jeanne glanced at the digital clock readout on the dash, only a couple of hours have passed since we were listening to the same station.

  What a weird couple of hours it has been.

  6.

  BOGGARTS

  Turner Institute.

  Aberdeen.

  April 2011

  The bakery was exactly where it had been when she would frequent it almost daily. Jeanne picked up a bag of six making sure they were well buttered and spread thickly with strawberry jam.

  As they sat and munched on the delicious flaky pastries, she planned her route from Rose Street to Nan’s. Smiling at her recall of the street names, she took time to look around as they ate their Rowies. Rowies aka Aberdeen Butteries, ‘Butter’ and that said it all, she thought, still they tasted absolute fine.

  Everything looked the same, but it wasn’t; not now it wasn’t. Things will never be the same.

  “Like them?”

  “They’re nice, funny though, the salty and jammy taste together, did dad like them?”

  “He could never get enough of them,” she replied with a pang, more memories flooding back.

  Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea after all. She licked her fingers and then brushed flakes and crumbs from the front of her jacket, “we’ll save the rest till later, I’m needing a cuppie to wash that lot down. C’mon then, buckle up. I’ll drop you off at your Nan’s.”

  Jeanne stabbed the start button and the big V8 thrummed into life, following her pre-planned route she soon deposited Paul at his grandmother’s. Minutes later she was through the security gates and turning into the Turner Institute car park. She pulled into her allotted spot, even though being a Saturday, there were plenty of empty spaces to choose from.

  The front desk was manned by a young armed serviceman, he watched closely as she pressed her badge to the ID slab. When satisfied with the monitor feedback of her credentials and image, he motioned her to a set of double glass doors, Jeanne approached and waited, as the first set opened she stepped forward, the doors swished shut behind her, - a scanner hummed. The doors in front of her opened, sliding into recesses on either side. As she cleared the second set, with a further hiss they closed and locked behind her. Bloody Star Trek, she thought not for the first time, I wonder when James T is going to appear.

  As she turned the corner she saw the American, standing talking to two guards outside the male Boggart’s room. The anthropologist looked up and smiled, he raised his hand in a mock salute to Jeanne. “Hi, you got here then.”

  ~

  The creature stood up and walked to the viewing strip directly opposite to where Jeanne had stopped. There was no way he could see her through the one way glass and the wall below it, but he seemed to be inspecting her. After a minute he turned, and stood in the middle of the floor, still looking in her direction.

  “He’s looking right at me,” said Jeanne in a shocked whisper, Tom moved behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “That’s the first time he’s taken an interest in anyone or anything since he’s been here,” she gasped. Excitement, or is it his hands on my shoulders, tingeing her voice, and causing a visible shudder to run down her spine.

  The Boggart stood as though he was watching them intently. Tom moved to the door, keyed the combination and stepped inside. “Hello, I’m Tom,” he said and held out his hands palms upwards.

  Jeanne’s heart was in her mouth, she held her breath.

  The Boggart dipped his head slightly, almost a bow; he then flicked his long forked tongue suddenly into Tom’s face. The gruesome appendage darted around Tom’s features, touching, sensing, and probing. Tom stood frozen, his hands still outstretched. The creature then investigated his hands. As quickly as he had stood, the creature resumed his position, on the floor.

  Tom stepped out of the room. Jeanne let her breath go in a loud puff.

  The Boggart spat.

  “He’s very hot.”

  “What?”

  “I said he’s very hot, that’s why he’s taken his clothes off.”

  “Makes sense,” said one of the guards.

  Jeanne walked to the other side of the doorway and looked at the readouts, “Its only 25 degrees in there, that’s not too hot.”

  “It might be for him,” observed Tom, “imagine how an Eskimo would feel at those temperatures.”

  “What do you think then Mr Anthropologist?” Jeanne said feeling a little put out that she hadn’t worked out the reasons behind the creature’s naturist tendencies.

  “Turn it down to 10, see what he does.”

  Jeanne picked up the phone and spoke to the ops room, “It’ll be about half an hour before it gets chilly in there, let’s go and check out the little mother.” She spun on her heel and set off down the corridor. Tom fell in alongside her, leaving one of the guards to stand watch over the male.

  “You could get in big trouble calling her that in the States,” remarked Tom with a chuckle.

  “What? Oh, ha, ha.” Jeanne smiled and mocked laughter as she realised just what she had said, this guy brings out the worst in me.

  The little female was at least sat on the bed, her baby lying beside her. The little bag that had been strapped across her shoulders, next to the baby, open. Jeanne could make out that it contained the tiniest, cutest little jacket she had ever seen in her life, among other items.

  Jeanne phoned ops again to have the temperature regulated, and entered the room alone. A small group of scientists were lined up along the observation strip. She knew cameras were monitoring and recording every movement the female made. The on-line audience included observers in many parts of the country.

  The female looked up at her, and what could be classed as recognition flickered across her str
ange, flattened features. She raised her left hand and made a quick set of movements with her forefinger and thumb, giving a little click to complete the sequence.

  Her tongue flicked disconcertingly towards Jeanne’s face. Jeanne spread both her hands out as Tom had done, to show they were empty and that she meant no harm. The female flicked her tongue against each hand before settling herself alongside her baby.

  Her tongue isn’t even wet, thought Jeanne in surprise. She sat on the bed on the other side of the child and gently opened the rough covers to take a better look. The female watched her closely, her eyes tracking every movement.

  The baby was much like the two adults, olive skinned, with variegated darker markings and swirls all across his body. Very obviously male, and with a thick mop of silver hair extending to his shoulders, be a fine mane one day.

  Jeanne rose from the bed and washed her hands in the basin, making sure the female saw every movement she made. “I’m not going to demonstrate how to use the loo for you or anyone,” she said aloud to the creature which jumped slightly at the sound of her voice.

  “That’s a pity,” quipped Tom from the door. The female spun her head towards his voice and whistled once loudly.

  “Too right girl, my sentiments exactly,” said Jeanne with a chuckle.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Aye, just for a minute then.”

  Tom slipped into the room and walked up to the female. She looked him up and down, and then flicked her tongue against his outstretched hands. She then looked immediately at Jeanne and began a low crooning sound. The little Boggart stretched out both her hands taking one each of theirs. Her little hands are quite rough, used to hard work. The female brought their hands together until they were touching.

  Without thinking, Jeanne took Tom’s hand into her own; the creature immediately placed her hands over theirs and squeezed. What the heck is she trying to say? The female Bogart grimaced, was that a smile? I’d like to think so. Jeanne and Tom both responded with huge grins.

  They left the room together, still holding hands. As they approached the door, Tom quickly wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. “That was one of the most moving things I have ever experienced,” he said, his face beaming, his voice catching, full of emotion.

  Jeanne reduced the brightness of the lighting in the room until it was no more than a dim residue around the walls. “Let’s do the same for the wee laddie shall we? Too hot, too bright, poor kid.”

  They made their way back, leaving the second guard with the little pack of observers outside the female’s room.

  “He’s just now started dressing,” the first guard ventured.

  The Boggart was pulling on his boots.

  Jeanne was in a great mood, she must have been to have taken her next move. “Let’s introduce them,” she said.

  “You sure?” Tom was momentarily hesitant.

  “Any reason why not?”

  “Not that I can think of, and you’re the boss. - I’ll get him,” he continued.

  “Go on then.”

  Tom strode confidently into the room. The Boggart looked up at his entrance; Tom spread his hands the way Jeanne had done to the female. The creature’s forked tongue flicked across them, lingering where the female had held him.

  At a gesture from Tom the creature rose to its feet. He is just a bit shorter than my boy was at five, thought Jeanne comparing the Boggart to Tom in height. She followed the two along the corridor.

  At the door to the female’s room, the little male became quite excited, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other and making huffing noises. Jeanne increased the intensity of the lighting and opened the door.

  The male stepped inside; the two humans took up positions at the door.

  For a while the two Boggarts stood just looking at each other. The female hesitantly raised one hand, and began to make a series of movements with her fingers. The male responded in like manner.

  “They’re talking with their hands,” said Tom, “my niece has been doing deaf and dumb signing for a couple of years at school. It’s just like that.”

  The two Boggarts then sat either side of the baby; they brought their heads close together and extended their tongues into each other’s mouths. They held the pose, eyes closed for at least a minute. Breaking off with a flurry of finger clicking and gestures, the male stood and walked towards the door, obviously ready to leave the room. Jeanne held the door for him. He exited without a backward glance and strode swiftly to his own room. Reaching the door he waited until it was opened for him by the guard. Once back in his room he sat, this time on the bed, and began staring into space.

  Jeanne watched him go, disappointed that he had not spent more time with the little female. She in turn had remained sitting on the bed, and was now feeding her baby, her tongue flicking in and out, touching the child’s face with obvious tenderness.

  Taking an opportunity to check the little female’s injury, Jeanne could see that it was little more than a scrape and would soon heal. The female stood her probing without a glimmer of concern.

  They are so trusting; I just hope we can keep it that way.

  As she left the room her mobile chirruped, taking it from her pocket she checked the incoming number, ‘Stoney’ code, could only be Eddie.

  “McLennan,” she responded.

  “Eddie here Ma’am, we’ve been questioning the witness, I’m afraid there are some serious inconsistencies in her statement, and she now has just refused to speak to anyone other than you.”

  “Have you charged her?”

  “Yep, driving a vehicle without valid tax and insurance, she’ll be in front of the ‘beak’ on Monday week. And she’s on the missing persons list too, computer flagged up a crazy message as soon as we entered her name and address.”

  “Okay, I’d like to interview her, can you arrange for her to be brought to the Turner Institute, it’s just off Foresterhill road.”

  “I know where you mean, we’ve a car on its way to Aberdeen in a few minutes, I’ll pop her on board, and she should be with you in less than an hour.”

  “’K, cheers Eddie.”

  She cut the connection and made her way to her office, Tom following. Dialling the front desk, she informed Security of the impending arrival of the woman.

  “Now before ‘Blondie’ gets here, let’s get that cup of coffee, and scoff off the rest of these Rowies,” Tom raised his eyebrows in question, “Wait ’n’ see, you’ll not be disappointed,” she continued.

  “I’m entirely in your hands,” he said in a dark voice, the innuendo was not lost on her; she flashed a glare at him.

  Behave Mister.

  ~

  Slightly more than half an hour later a call came through from the main desk informing them of the arrival of the blonde witness.

  “I’ll go fetch," said Tom.

  7.

  YVONNE WILSON

  Turner Institute.

  April 2011

  The woman entered the office looking distressed and totally exhausted. Jeanne sat her down and offered a cup of tea. She muttered her thanks and sat with her eyes flickering about, taking in all the objects in Jeanne’s office.

  “The police keep telling me that it’s not 2000, please tell me that I’m not going crazy, it is isn’t it?”

  “Let’s all start at the beginning shall we, first off, what’s your name and address?”

  “Craigdendarroch Farm, Rhu-na-Haven Road, Aboyne, my name is Yvonne Wilson, we’ve been staying with my brother-in-law and his wife for the past six months while my divorce goes through.”

  “You said we, who else?”

  “My two daughters, Annie and Linda, Annie’s twelve and Linda fifteen. I said all this to the Police; do I have to go through it again?”

  “Sorry, but yes. Where were you living before Aboyne?”

  “In Kidderminster, with my ex.”

  “Address?”

  “Bewdley Road,” she gave a number which Jeann
e noted down.

  “His name?”

  “Brian … Brian Wilson - yeah, I know, like in the Beach Boys.”

  “Just a minute,” said Jeanne, let’s pump this lot in and see what we get. She turned to the computer alongside her and opened up the government’s ‘Big Brother’ page; she entered the given information and hit the search button with the mouse.