Low City: Missing Persons (A Tractus Fynn Mystery Book 3)

by Alexander, MK

“Have you run into anyone else in your travels?”

  “Such as?”

  “Chloe or Lilly?”

  “Ah yes, and as separate people.”

  “That’s a red flag.”

  “Why?”

  “Last time I was here, they were one person, combined so to speak.”

  “Something to ponder…” Fynn said vaguely.

  “Any sign of Mortimer?”

  “None. Neither a year ago or presently.”

  “Not as Melissa’s husband?”

  “He seems to have disappeared.”

  “How about Drummond’s daughter?”

  “The same… no young redheads about. And Detective Durbin is still safe.”

  “What about all those other crimes? The dead detectives. Did you fix them, solve any of them?”

  “No. In the end, my sense of caution prevailed. I thought it best not to tamper with the past until things are resolved.”

  “What things?”

  “Your doppelgänger for one.”

  “Did you visit Lorraine?”

  “Yes. We spent some time together… to make amends for my disappearance.”

  “How is she?”

  “Quite well, in fact she will be visiting in a few days.”

  “Really?"

  “Once we open the house. Anika is very excited at the prospect of seeing her mother again.”

  The daughter in question returned shortly after we finished breakfast. She was flush from her walk. “I do love it here,” she started breathlessly. “And it brings back memories… only good ones I will hasten to say.”

  “Saved you some coco.”

  “Thanks, Patrick, but I’ve already had my tea.”

  “Good,” Fynn said, “then you can give Patrick a ride to his hotel in Oldham. I’ve made a reservation. Room fourteen. Please remain stealthy upon exiting and arriving.”

  “But—”

  “You must remain sequestered, Patrick,” Fynn cut me off sternly.

  Anika drove me to the Ramada. I slumped in the front seat of the rental car with my hood up, like some criminal. She went to the lobby and got the key. I had a separate bungalow with a great view of the rotary. Anika also gave me her cell phone. “I can get another,” she explained. “And father has this number should he need to reach you.” She pecked me on the cheek and left me standing in the middle of the room. “I’ll drop by tonight.”

  The time passed slowly. I felt cooped up with the giant TV on, though on mute. Occasionally, I peeked out at the bright morning and watched the traffic choke up along the rotary. It seemed like days had gone by, but it was only hours when the telephone finally rung. It was Fynn.

  “Anika tells me it will take a bit of time to open the house and prepare things.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Shopping, I suppose. She’s taken the car to Fairhaven.”

  “Oh.”

  “And how are you faring, Patrick?”

  “Honestly, I’m bored out of my skull. I feel like a prisoner.”

  “It can’t be helped.”

  “I guess not… Any news?”

  “Of course. I’ve spoken to the Chief and Detective Durbin. They are now firmly convinced that something untoward befell your friend Gary.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Arantez has agreed to mount a full investigation, and has graciously allowed my participation. We visited the crime scene in fact.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “No, though I do wish you had been present.” Fynn paused. “I did learn of some odd occurrences just prior to the murder.”

  “Like?”

  “Sevens’ car was reported stolen that very same day, and there are several contradictory witness statements concerning his movements and whereabouts.”

  “That was probably me.”

  “As I suspected. The police are rather more curious though.”

  “Um, there is one thing I thought of…”

  “What’s that?”

  “Edmund’s compass. My doppelgänger had one… And I was wondering where it was.”

  “A very good question.”

  “A missing compass could be a time-travel thing, right?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, I found one in nineteen sixty-four, from Count Mortimer’s villa— remember?”

  “Ah, a causality question… How did your counterpart obtain his?”

  “Well, there’s that, but I’m thinking somebody might have stolen it from Sevens’ apartment that night.”

  “An important clue… We might imagine someone we know is involved: one of the sisters, Mortimer himself, or even Drummond’s daughter.”

  “And?”

  “A distinct line of inquiry which I will pursue without the help of Durbin or Arantez…” Fynn paused. “Well, Patrick, thank you for this… but I must be going. We’ll catch up this evening, eh?”

  “Wait… What about Mrs Domino? Did you meet with her yet?”

  “Ah… yes. An interesting encounter. I came away with the feeling that she doesn’t like me very much…” Fynn said, but left me hanging.

  “And?”

  “She’s quite attractive for a woman of her age, don’t you agree?”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, somebody has said to me they think Mrs Domino and Sevens were having an affair.”

  “Who said that?”

  “A confidential source.”

  “I don’t think so. She’s not my type.”

  “Old, you mean?”

  “There’s that, but, Sevens told me that he didn’t like her; he thought she might have killed Durbin.”

  “Hmm… perhaps he had an odd way of investigating the matter.”

  “Sleeping with her, you mean?”

  Fynn said nothing but I guessed that he shrugged unseen.

  “I’m not sure I’d do something like that.”

  “It’s possible he didn’t take it that far and merely flirted with her.” Fynn paused. “I think I’ll call Frances in Colorado and see what she can come up with.”

  “Franny?”

  “Ah, you remember her?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “She may be able to find something about Mrs Domino.”

  ***

  Like an illegal commodity, I was delivered to the beach house on Dune Road. It was the dead of night. I needlessly wore a hood and sunglasses. There was just a single flashlight to guide me to the door.

  “There may be one or two workman arriving in the morning, just to finish things and clean up,” Fynn told me. “So you may have to hide. I might suggest one of the bedrooms. I think they’re all done upstairs.”

  “Isn’t there electricity?” I tried a nearby switch with no result.

  “Not yet… tomorrow, I’ve been assured.”

  “Um… what about food? What do I eat?”

  Fynn and Anika glanced at each other. Neither smiled; they had the same blank expression. “Oh yes, no room service. I knew we forgot something,” Anika finally said. “I’ll go to the market in the morning and have things delivered.”

  “Thanks… When will I see you, either of you?”

  “I’ll be quite busy all day, but I’ll try to telephone at least,” Fynn said and started to the door. Anika gave me a comforting hug. I was a prisoner again, though I readily admit, I couldn’t have wished for a nicer jail. Huddled up in an old blanket, I slept some until a storm hit, an early summer thunderstorm. The wind howled and I raced around the house with a flashlight closing all the windows.

  Looking around early the next morning, it seemed like the renovations were far from finished. There were tarps everywhere, power tools, trash bins, and spackle on the walls still far from dry. Gangs of workmen arrived soon afterwards. I hid upstairs. The electricity came on though; I could hear power tools and music from the first floor. Everything went quiet in the late afternoon and I snuck down for a look.

  Left at the door were provisions from
Lema’s market. I brought them in and started to stow things in the kitchen, now more than ready for lunch. At the bottom of one of the grocery bags, I found a tarot card.

  “Someone knows I’m here… I found another card,” I told Fynn as soon as he called.

  “And by someone, you mean Chloe or Lilly?”

  “Um, yes.”

  “What card has appeared?”

  “The Eight of Swords.”

  “Can you describe it?”

  “A picture of a woman bound and blindfolded… She’s standing next to a bunch of swords that are stuck in the sand.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Looks to be a castle in the background.”

  “Hmm… seems like a cry for help to me.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Just my intuition.”

  “Funny, I thought exactly the same thing.”

  ***

  Over the next few days I remained invisible, usually peering out at delivery men who frequented the house on Dune Road as of late. I found furniture deposited at the front door and hauled it in; then arranged it, and re-arranged it. I carried in countless bags of clothes, Fynn’s and Anika’s; as well as boxes full of all the things a house might need. They were both conspicuously absent by day. By night, I was only permitted the occasional walk on the beach. Anika or Fynn would sometimes join me.

  One afternoon I heard a familiar car pull into the pebble driveway; the doorbell rang and I peeked from an upstairs window. Not a delivery this time. I recognized Ricky Durbin, standing outside awkwardly, and was sorely tempted to say hello. I ran downstairs and flung open the door.

  He did not give me his usual squinty grin, in fact he turned white as a ghost— a look of horror and disbelief crossed his face.

  “What the f—?”

  “Hey, it’s me, Patrick.” I smiled instead.

  It took Ricky several seconds to gather his wits. He finally spoke. “Sorry about your brother.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I was right,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Wasn’t an accident, it was murder after all.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I called Fynn.”

  “Where did you find him?”

  “Oh… he was in Italy.”

  “What are you doing here, dude?”

  “Hiding.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t want to freak anybody out. Complicate things…”

  “Right… What things?”

  “The investigation. Don’t tell your dad.”

  “What?”

  “Well, okay, I guess you can tell him.” I paused. “What brings you here?”

  “I’m the errand boy today, dropping off vehicle registrations, a list of cars parked at the Beachcomber on the night in question.” He handed me a folder.

  I looked through it briefly when a thought struck me. “Hey, who drives a standard?”

  “How should I know?”

  “You know what people drive.”

  Ricky grinned. “Yes, I do.”

  “Well?”

  “Hmm…” He stopped to think. “Miriam has an old beetle, I bet that’s a manual transmission.”

  “Who else?”

  “Crazy Amy drives a Mini Cooper— that has a standard, pretty sure… Mrs Domino drives a BMW, could be a five speed stick— just a guess though. I could ask Eddie.”

  “Eddie?”

  “At the shop, he works on most everybody’s car.”

  ***

  The phone rang and somehow that was a comforting sound. Anika answered and called over to her father, “It’s Chief Arantez.”

  Fynn led me to his study with a beckoning hand and turned on the speaker phone:

  “We got a break on the case, I thought you’d like to know,” the chief’s voice filled the room.

  “Of course. What’s happened?”

  “We put a trace on Sevens’ bank account. Seems somebody used his debit card after the murder.”

  “Where?”

  “Denver Colorado, at a pro shop.”

  “What does this mean?”

  “Someone, and probably our murderer, bought a set of golf clubs. I don’t have all the details yet.”

  “Very interesting.”

  “The card was also used to book a hotel room in midtown Manhattan. What do you suppose this person is up to?”

  “It’s difficult to say.”

  “There’s more… Looks like someone might be using Gary Sevens’ passport. I think we’ve got ourselves an impostor running around.”

  “What makes you say this?”

  “Well, since his debit card was used, I also put a trace on his passport. I gotta flight from Richmond to Denver, one back to NY, one to Amsterdam… and a return trip. He’s in the country again. What the heck do you think he’s up to, Inspector?”

  “Well, I must admit his movements are baffling at present.”

  “Not just anyone can use a false passport and get away with it,” Chief Arantez observed. “They must look very, very similar. And I think he might be back in town.”

  “It’s all rather intriguing, Chief, but I’m not sure how it’s relevant.”

  “You’d know better than me,” Arantez replied with a chuckle. “One other thing…”

  “Yes?”

  “At the very time we discovered Sevens’ body, an alarm went off at the Domino Real Estate office. Apparently someone broke in. There was a window found open.”

  “Was anything stolen?”

  “Not according to Mrs Domino.”

  ***

  “I had a long talk with the proprietor of the Beachcomber, Francis Peters,” Fynn said over lunch the next day.

  “You know him well, don’t you?”

  “Yes, in this timeline and others.”

  “And?”

  “He had some useful information.”

  “Like?”

  Fynn read a statement: “… he was acting strange that night. Kept forgetting things I had just told him… and I swear he changed his clothes halfway through the party. That’s kind of weird, right?”

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  “Worse, it seems you were also seen at the Beachcomber that night.”

  “Me? You mean Sevens.”

  “No, I mean both of you. Someone matching your description was seen talking to Sevens on the beach.”

  “So, I’m a suspect now?” I laughed.

  “Not in my view, but I can’t speak for the authorities.”

  “Great.”

  “Do you recall attending this soiree?”

  “No,” I replied right away, but then started to dredge up some ancient memories. “Well… not really… I did dream about it… but more like when I was the Magistrate…”

  “How curious. Perhaps it was a kind of sleepwalking,” Fynn offered.

  “Ha,” Anika called from across the room, “it seems to be a common occurrence for more than just one of us.”

  “Anything you might remember would be helpful,” Fynn went on.

  “It’s very hazy, to be honest.”

  “Something rather strange… someone was circulating a petition that evening, and I found your signature on it.”

  “My signature? What?”

  “Patrick Jardel has signed the petition to ban gas powered leaf-blowers here in your town.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Well, there are also these…” Fynn dumped a pile of photos on the table. “I found what Gary was wearing that night, shoes and all.”

  I looked, and it was odd to see myself, but not myself… sitting, talking, laughing and dancing…

  “An off-white pullover, black jeans and high tops, as you call them,” Fynn said. “None of these items were found in the dryer, and seem to be missing from his wardrobe.”

  “That’s a big clue.”

  “Indeed. We will need a complete inventory of his possessions.”

  “Didn’t the police do that already?”

&nbs
p; “I’ve been told not every item was catalogued by forensics. There was no sign of a break in, or a robbery. It seemed unrelated at the time.”

  “Did they find any coins?” I asked.

  Fynn stared at me. “What?”

  “Sevens had a coin collection, sort of. A couple of gold coins you gave him actually…”

  “Me? That’s not something I remember very clearly.”

  “I gave him one too, a Spanish doubloon.”

  “You might have mentioned this before, eh?” Fynn scolded gently.

  “Sorry.”

  “If the coins are missing, it may be a simple matter of robbery.”

  “Why?”

  “Such coins can be quite valuable,” Fynn said.

  “I gave one to Sevens at the pine grove… and I remember the date: seventeen eighty-seven.”

  “Do you also recall what it looked like?”

  “I think it had an eagle on it.”

  “Possibly a Brasher doubloon.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The first gold coin minted by your revolutionary government. It’s worth quite a sum.”

  “How much?”

  “A few millions of dollars at least.”

  “Wow.”

  “Motive enough for nearly anyone.”

  “Anybody who knew he had the coin.”

  “As you say. Do you think your doppelgänger showed this to anyone?”

  “Can’t be sure… but I’m leaning towards not. Wait a second… the guys in Fairhaven, the collectors… They might have known about the coins.”

  “Was that not after Gary was killed?” Fynn asked.

  “Oh, right.”

  “So, you are saying chief among our suspects is a time-traveling numismatist?”

  I laughed. “No, probably not. It’s kind of a stretch that they’d be at the Beachcomber that night.”

  “I will agree. Though it must be something to rule out definitely. I have a fairly comprehensive guest list from that evening.” Fynn paused. “There is another possibility. If these coins are missing, they may have disappeared after the fact.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A technician or even a policeman may have been sorely tempted by them.”

  “Who processed the evidence?”

  “The county… or the state police labs. I will mention the coins to Arantez… but first we must determine what else, if anything, is missing.”

  “And if nothing is?”