The Tirnano - Book 1 'FINN'

by Peter Emmerson

  The PC’s speakers gave a sharp buzz and the screen changed. A red band filled the top inch of the screen with the words ‘MISSING 2000, PRESUMED DECEASED’ flashing, in sharp contrasting white.

  Yvonne, who had full view of the screen, gave a tight scream and slumped in her chair as she read the words. Clamping her hands to her mouth, she began to moan. “What’s happening, please help me, I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve an idea,” ventured Tom, the first words he had uttered since they sat around the desk. “It sounds crazy, but it’s the only darn explanation I can see.”

  “Go on,” said Jeanne.

  “Your car is in showroom condition.”

  “I only picked it up this morning,” Yvonne interjected.

  “It was licensed, insured and plated in 2000. Everything you have on you, your clothes, your diary, makeup, the whole kybosh points to the beginning of the century, millennium, call it what you will, it’s all from the year 2000 agreed?”

  Yvonne looked on in dread, her eyes wide, her breath was coming in gasps, “Yes, that’s right,” she yelped.

  “But it’s not 2000 now. Look around you, this desk diary, the wall calendar. The computer equipment in here, and look here at my cell, seen anything like that before?” he paused, letting the woman compose herself. “This is no hoax Yvonne, what reason would we have to try and kid you?”

  Yvonne’s eyes were even wider now, her lower lip was quivering and she looked on the point of collapse, her body began to shake as the enormity of what she was being forced to accept was thrust upon her.

  Jeanne came round the desk and cradled the stricken woman in her arms as Tom concluded his theory. “I somehow think you have been catapulted into the future, you’ve been thrown forward in time.”

  As Tom finished speaking, Yvonne gave in to her pent up emotions. Letting her whole body slump into Jeanne’s arms she began sobbing; dragging great gulps of air into her lungs.

  “Get her a drink Tom. Just outside in the corridor, the cooler bottle.”

  Tom hurried to do as she bid, and in moments was back with a paper cone filled with chilled water. Yvonne sipped gratefully at it, composing herself. “How can I get back home?” her voice was a whispered plea.

  “I really don’t know sweetheart, but we’ll do everything we can to see if we can find your family,” said Jeanne.

  “Will they all be older?” her eyes were wide as she grasped the enormity of her own question.

  “I think you can be sure of that,” said Tom gently.

  Yvonne buried her head in her hands for a moment, then with a deep breath she sat up straight, and with the strength of character of one who has suffered much and borne it stoically, she said, “So what else does your computer thingie say about me then?”

  “I’ll have a look.”

  Jeanne moved back to the screen and began searching for information. As she found references to Yvonne or her case, she spooled them to the printer in the corner of the room. Quite a pile had accumulated by the time she finished. Yvonne sat silently, watching Jeanne as she worked, sipping on the paper cone of water, and then crumpling it into a soggy mess.

  Tom picked up the printouts and began to scan through them. “I think you better get this little lady’s court hearing quashed if you can. It looks like she has been telling the truth and my theory is right after all,” he said, his voice hushed and unsteady.

  Jeanne picked up the phone, tapped a number, and after a short while began speaking to the fresh on duty desk sergeant at the little police station in Stonehaven. “Is that Eddy? No... have you sent off the charges on Mrs Yvonne Wilson yet? - No, well hold them, in fact bin ‘em please. Authority? - mine - Home Office, MI5. Yes it’s that important. Thank you.” She replaced the receiver with a sigh. “Small town cops, so full of their own self importance." Oops - shouldn’t have said that, but it’s true, get on my wick sometimes.

  Tom was smiling widely, “Love it when she gets angry, - turns green and throws trucks about.”

  Yvonne was totally bemused.

  Ignoring Tom’s feeble effort at some sort of humour, Jeanne said, “Tom can you take a look in on our ‘little’ family members, I’ve a call to make. Yvonne, I think you better come home with me, you’re going to need a decent night’s rest before we try and sort out what’s going on.”

  “Can’t I just go home?”

  “And if they aren’t there anymore, what then, and if they are, what type of a reception do you think you’d get just turning up on the doorstep?”

  Yvonne’s face crumpled as she realised Jeanne was right.

  “Anyway, what difference are a couple of days going to make after all these years?” Jeanne said with a tight grin.

  “And hey, I did only see them this morning anyway,” said the blonde woman, looking straight into Jeanne’s eyes and forcing a twisted smile of her own.

  8.

  JOHN WILSON

  Aboyne.

  Aberdeenshire.

  April 2011

  “Hello, - John Wilson?” Jeanne asked as the phone was answered,

  “Mmm, yes, who’s calling?”

  “My name is Dr. Jeanne McLennan; I’m with the ANS in Aberdeen. I’d appreciate the opportunity to meet with you as soon as possible, it’s very important.”

  “What’s it all about?”

  “I’m sorry sir; but it’s not something I care to discuss over the phone.”

  “Who’d you say you were with?”

  “The ANS - Academy of Natural Sciences.”

  “Oh,” there was a pause before he spoke again, “when?”

  “Today, it’ll take us about an hour to get to you is that convenient?”

  “Yeah, I guess so, is it important?”

  “I’m afraid it’s very important, sir.”

  “Okay, see you in about an hour then, I take it you know how to get here?”

  “Yes, if we can meet in the Lobby of the Huntly Arms, any problems with that?”

  “Err, no, see you there then.”

  Jeanne thanked him and replaced the handset, she turned to Tom, “we can pick up Yvonne from my place on the way out.”

  “You taking Paul?”

  “I was thinking of dropping him off at his Nan’s.”

  “Why not bring him along, be a treat for him to meet the artist who put that book together.”

  “I’ve been thinking more about the strange coincidence of how Yvonne happens to be the sister-in-law, of the guy who draws pictures of the creature she almost wipes out. I think there’s a lot more going on than we know about, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

  “I agree, anyway about Paul?”

  Jeanne nodded, hmm, she thought, nice that he gets along with Paul, but why? What ulterior motive has he got? Don’t want to see my lad disappointed if he drops us like a couple of hot potatoes. - What am I thinking? He’s just a work colleague, not a clandestine lover. I’d prefer to keep it that way, but he keeps shooting out signals, what’s a girl to think?

  “Okay, be a nice ride out for him too.” She muttered. Stop being stupid.

  They left the office together, Jeanne walked alongside the anthropologist down the corridor, every step they took drove his nearness into her being, she caught a whiff of his aftershave, mmm, nice. They soon reached the double doors. She pressed her ID card to the pad; Tom followed suit; they then waited for the security guard to permit their exit.

  As they left the building, Jeanne flipped her mobile open, and thumbed the teddy-bear icon to speed-dial Paul’s mobile; he would be mortified if he knew of my choice of icon.

  “Hi mum.”

  “Get Yvonne for me please, darling.”

  She heard him call out and a few moments later the woman spoke, “Hi Jeanne, what’s up?”

  “Fancy a trip to Aboyne?”

  “You bet, try and stop me.”

  “Okay, stick Paul back on please.”

  Her son came on the phone, Jeanne gave him a few further instruct
ions on locking up the house and closed with, “Be with you in a bit, lovie.”

  The journey to Aboyne was uneventful. The picturesque drive along the North Deeside Road was only slowed as they negotiated the main street through the beautiful town of Banchory.

  The houses and villages lining the A93 to Ballater at the foot of the Grampian Mountains were mostly built from granite, and all had a common look of strength and character about them even though in design they were quite different.

  “How come these properties are all built of granite, and yet most of the traditional buildings south of here are all red sandstone?” Tom asked, almost reading her mind.

  “I remember this coming up at school, it’s something to do with the Highland Boundary Fault - often referred to as the Highland Line - it’s a geological rock feature running diagonally across the Scottish mainland from Helensburgh in the west to Stonehaven, well Muchalls to be exact, in the north east. Granite hills and mountains sit to the north of this fault, and to the south of it everything is of red sandstone. Take a look at the dissimilarity between the older properties in Aberdeen and those in Dundee or Edinburgh, local stone was always used for building, hence the differences.” Jeanne replied.

  “I often wondered about that, but never had the courage to ask. Bad enough being an in-comer, without being classed as a thick one,” Yvonne laughed.

  “There’s a theory that Scotland is made up of a number of totally different pieces. North of the Highland line including the Grampians, was once part of Scandinavia and believe it or not, Maine in North America too, whereas everything below it, including England, drifted north, having broken away from Europe. They came together or split apart, or whatever, and have been floating about all over the place for some four hundred million years or so.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” said Tom, “so are we cousins then?”

  “Not me kidder, I was born south of the dividing line, in Edinburgh, I’m a Sassenach, a lowlander.”

  Tom chuckled, “I’ll never understand you Brits and your tribal games. For a little bitty set of islands you really have a lot of strange divisions.”

  “You better believe it,” said Yvonne.

  The conversation ended as the outskirts of Aboyne, with its beautiful granite buildings and homes loomed up on them.

  “We’re meeting John Wilson in the Huntly Arms hotel - I thought it best to keep on neutral territory for starters,” said Jeanne to Yvonne, “You two make yourselves scarce until the guy’s got his head around things, okay?” Yvonne and Paul nodded.

  “We can have a look round the shops. See how things have changed since I was here a couple of days ago.” Yvonne sounded excited, her voice raising an octave as she realised the enormity of what she had just said. Her eyes were flicking left and right, taking in any differences as they drove into the town.

  “Much changed?” asked Tom, watching her.

  “A little, but not as much as I expected, mostly things like trees and bushes, new properties, where there were empty fields. And the horse sanctuary on the North Deeside has changed quite a bit, the girls and I used to help out there… I had some very good friends who ran one of the shops in the old Railway Parade, can I look them up?”

  “Remember eleven years have passed, don’t go scaring the life out of them if they are still about. I’ll give a call on Paul’s phone when we’re ready for you.”

  “Okay, see you in a bit.”

  Jeanne and Tom walked across a wide green to the hotel. Jeanne felt quite anxious for her new friend and the forthcoming meeting with her family. She had taken to the blonde, and empathised with her and her predicament much more than she had ever expected to. I can’t imagine how painful it would be losing touch with Paul for a week, let alone eleven years.

  They stepped from the bright April sunshine into the cool, dark interior of the hotel lobby. As her eyes adjusted, Jeanne looked about for a face which matched the bio photo on Paul’s book. Her man sat by the window, and had been watching their approach as they walked from the car park. As they locked eyes he rose from his seat, “I ordered up some coffee… is that all right?”

  “Sure, thanks,” Jeanne said, and put out her hand. His handshake was firm and confident. They settled into the big Chesterfields as he poured a cup each for them. Ex forces, probably the Guards.

  “This is Dr Tom Pinkerton, a colleague of mine.”

  “Hi, - John Wilson.”

  Reaching across the table, Tom shook hands with the tall rangy Scot.

  Pushing his late forties, a bit twitchy. Why?

  “Call me Pink,” he said.

  “I’m intrigued. Your phone call has left me wondering all sorts of things, none of which seem to connect me to your organisation; which I checked out on line after your call. I thought you were based in London. Some sort of government investigation agency. Spend your time looking into all sorts of weird happenings.”

  “We are - but I’ve come out here for two reasons, I really don’t know which one to begin with, they’re both pretty heavy.” - God, I had this all planned out in my head, now I just can’t seem to get the right words together.

  “You have a sister-in-law, Yvonne - correct?” said Tom, picking up the lead.

  “Ummm, yes… she went missing without trace years ago. You’re not telling me you’ve finally found her body,” his left hand went to his mouth, his eyes wide.

  “In a manner of speaking, we think so, yes,” Jeanne interjected.

  John’s face fell.

  “But not in the way you think, she’s not dead; in fact she’s very much alive.”

  “What...?” his demeanour changed instantly, a flicker of anger crossed his face, “alive, the witch, where has she been hiding all these years?”

  “I think you better cool it until you hear the whole story, sir.” Jeanne said tersely, annoyed at the way John had immediately assumed the worst without hearing any explanation.

  “Sorry, I guess I could have forgiven her if …” his voice tailed off.

  “Go on …” said Tom.

  “Well abandoning the girls, the way she did. My wife Laura did her best, but she wasn’t strong ... the stress of it all didn’t help. She passed on eight years ago. Cancer. The girls had to go back to my brother; I couldn’t keep them when he demanded their return. Even though I’m sure he and that tart of his didn’t really want them.” He dropped his head, “loved them she did, but it was too much.” He sat up straight, took a deep breath and reached for his coffee.

  Jeanne had been watching him closely, analysing.

  Sipping on the hot brew - not bad, got a bit of taste at least, she took another sip, waiting for the right moment.

  She drew the pack of photos from her handbag, and passed them to the artist, “Have a look at these first, I’d like your opinion, and before you ask, I think they have some relevance.”

  Wilson opened the pack and began leafing through. After looking at the first couple, he scanned through the remainder quickly. He then went back to the beginning and looked long and hard at the top photo. His face was stiff as he struggled to control his emotions. But his eyes told it all, flicking about the picture, drinking in every detail. Fear, dread, shock, amazement, but riding high was recognition...

  “You have a book of fantasy art drawings published, he looks pretty much like one of your Boggarts, don’t you think?” said Tom.

  “Is that a crime?”

  “No, but it’s very interesting, don’t you think?” Tom shot back at him.

  “So… I’ve got a good imagination,” he hedged.

  “Or - you’ve seen something like that before.” Which I think is more likely the correct answer. Jeanne cut across them.

  “Where did you get these?” he asked.

  “I took them,” said Jeanne. The Scot sat quietly, still looking at the top photo. His shoulders fell and he gave a big sigh.

  “I thought you were here to tell me about Yvonne,” he said, laying the photos on the low coff
ee table.

  “We are, but we also think the two are connected. Only you know how you managed to get such a life-like painting of your Boggart, and I mean ‘life-like’, but we’ll talk about that later. I’m going to tell you what we think has happened. In fact Tom is going to tell you, it’s his theory. Best if you hear it firsthand. Before he does though, everything you hear is covered by the Official Secrets Act, do you understand?”

  At her words, John looked up with surprise; his mouth began to frame a question, she drew out her MI5 ID and passed it across. He ran his eyes across it, and handed it back, nodding.