by Jodi Taylor
I always swear it was the tea. Drink coffee and it slows your brain. A couple of slurps of tea and you become a genius.
‘We do have proof it wasn’t Leon,’ I said slowly. ‘Incontrovertible proof.’
‘What proof?’ said Markham, a little startled by my certainty, I think.
‘The tape,’ I said, in gathering excitement. ‘The one showing Leon entering the building. It’s a fake.’
They stared at me. ‘You mean it’s not Leon?’
‘Oh no – it’s Leon all right. It’s just not the right Leon.’
Peterson turned to Markham. ‘Did you put something in her tea?’
‘Not intentionally. Max, explain.’
‘I met Leon in his past. Not too long after he joined St Mary’s. Just after his family died. I don’t know exactly how long after these events I saw him, but I did see him. Dr Bairstow knows about it. It was one of those things – I’d met him but he hadn’t met me yet. You know how it goes.’
They nodded.
‘He was in a terrible state. He was bitter and angry and St Mary’s had just weaned him off the booze. He hated everyone and everything. He was lashing out everywhere. He was hurting and he wanted everyone else to hurt, too.’
‘Yes. I think I should point out, Max – not helping his case here. In fact, you’re making it only too likely he . . .’
‘No,’ I said, ‘you don’t understand. He was ill. Or had been. Very ill. That figure in the tapes – yes, it’s Leon – but not Leon as he was then. I saw him as he was then – we met in the Cretaceous when Ronan tried to kill me there. Leon had been sent to rescue me. He was whip-thin. Seriously – there wasn’t an ounce of flesh on him anywhere. The figure in the tape is far too bulky to be Leon as he was then. That’s Leon as he was later. After he’d recovered. She found an old tape from somewhere – one that showed his face – and she spliced it.’
I saw doubt in their faces.
‘And it’s provable. All the Time Police have to do is call up Leon’s medical records. They’ll show the state he was in at the time. His weight will have been noted. From there they can go on to investigate the tape. I mean really investigate it. No matter how good she is, somehow they’ll find the tape is spliced. With that, with Duval’s ID card – and Ellis can verify her true identity – and with Leon’s physical state at the time – it should be enough.’ I was struck with sudden doubt. ‘Shouldn’t it?’
Peterson got to his feet. ‘Let’s go and see.’
He seated himself at the console. ‘Computer – initiate jump.’
The world went white.
13
We bounced on landing. My thoughts were elsewhere and I nearly fell out of my seat.
‘Bloody hell’s bells,’ said Markham, rubbing his elbow.
‘Sorry,’ said Peterson, peering helplessly at the console. ‘I think the Technical Section have done something to this pod. It’s not handling very well.’
I waited for the normal ‘There’s nothing wrong with the pod, it’s the handler that’s the problem’, but it never came. I think we were too on edge.
Meddling in the affairs of wizards might be dangerous for they are subtle and quick to anger, but meddling in the affairs of the Time Police is downright suicidal because they tend to shoot first and laugh about it afterwards. Even if they believed us – which they might not – they might decide to ignore anything we put in front of them simply because we were St Mary’s. They didn’t love us. And that would be mainly my fault. Something else for me to think about.
We were very careful with our decontaminations. We didn’t want to carry the pandemic with us. Peterson had the blue light on its maximum setting and made us go through the procedures twice. I actually felt a little sick afterwards.
We exited the pod into early-morning sunshine.
‘We’re in Battersea Park,’ said Peterson, looking around. ‘I’ve been here when . . . Wow! Look at the size of that zeppelin.’ Historians are easily distracted. ‘Anyway, a short stroll along the river, under Barricade Bridge and it’s on our right.’
And it was. Battersea Power Station. Stark and black against the lighter sky.
It hadn’t changed. I don’t know why I thought it would. It never did. There had been a brief flirtation with a luxury hotel and leisure complex with wildly overpriced accommodation around it, but most of it had been destroyed during the Uprisings, and no one had bothered to replace them. The site had been cleared and restored and today it looked pretty much as it always had.
‘I’m always disappointed there’s no giant inflatable pig tethered to one of the chimneys,’ said Peterson. ‘Given it’s the home of the Time Police I always think it would be amazingly appropriate.’
I stopped and stared out over the sparkling river. It was as busy as always. Lines of laden barges were being towed up- and downriver. A River Police launch raced past, blue light flashing, causing everything in its wake to bob about like little rubber ducks. A mighty airship chugged overhead. If it was nine o’clock then that was the London to Berlin service.
I turned to face them. ‘I’ve been thinking.’ I didn’t wait for any comment either of them might feel like making about that. ‘I think you two should be the ones to present our findings. I think I should distance myself from this. I’m hardly impartial and they hate me. I don’t think I can contribute anything useful. In fact, even just my presence might be counterproductive. We can’t run the risk of them taking one look at me and turfing us out of the building. Or worse – arresting us on the spot. I’ll wait in the atrium while you two sort it out.’
‘It’s a good thought,’ said Markham, and I knew from the tone of his voice that this was something he’d been considering himself. ‘But are you sure?’
‘Yes. I’m sure.’
‘OK, then.’
Remembering at the last moment to whip off our fake badges, we entered TPHQ. As always, the atrium was heaving. Full of people who’d come to grass up their friends and neighbours for building something nasty in their garden shed. Schoolchildren on guided tours with beleaguered teachers trying to keep them in line. Harassed people with paperwork requiring Time Police approval – which they were unlikely to get. It was all happening here. Those few Time Police officers who had been trained not to bite helpfully ushered people to the right places.
‘I’ll wait over there.’ I nodded towards a seat near the indoor waterfall where I could sit quietly and watch the koi carp entice small children into their clutches. Or I could have if I’d had any intention of staying put.
I watched Markham and Peterson join the queue. Markham made no attempt to conceal the file, just holding it loosely at his side. Hiding in plain sight is always best.
They spoke earnestly and at length to an officer who stepped aside and spoke into his com. After a short wait, Captain Ellis appeared. The three of them talked together and then he ushered them away. A door closed behind them. No one even looked in my direction.
I waited for a bit of a lull and then approached the nearest officer. I didn’t know him and I was certainly hoping he didn’t know me.
He looked down his nose at me. ‘Can I help you?’
I resisted the impulse to ninja him out of existence. ‘I’d like to speak to Commander Hay, please.’
‘I’m afraid the commander is in a meeting at this moment.’
I’d expected this. I wasn’t anywhere near important enough to warrant the attention of Commander Hay. Or was I?
‘Please tell her Dr Maxwell from St Mary’s is here.’
I left him standing with his mouth open and went back to my seat in the indoor garden, counting slowly in my head and wondering how long it would take. Considerably less time than I’d anticipated, actually. I’d barely had enough time to look round again before the same officer stood before me.
‘Would you come this way, please.
’
Her office was unchanged. I had no idea where today was in her particular timeline but she hadn’t changed, either. To be fair, there wasn’t a lot that could change. Her face had been damaged in an accident when her pod door blew off.
Her adjutant, Captain Farenden, was with her, standing behind her chair, his hand resting very casually near his weapon.
Her voice was neutral. ‘Dr Maxwell. How can I help you?’
I hadn’t actually considered how I would begin. The typical Maxwell failure to plan ahead. I opened my mouth and waited for words to emerge.
‘I’ve come to apologise.’
I think she was too startled to speak.
I forged on. ‘I’ve left my colleagues downstairs proving Leon’s innocence of the charges you’ve brought against him. No blame attaches to you. You had a strong case which, fortunately, we’ve been able to disprove. Mr Markham has discovered evidence showing what really happened.’
‘And this is what you’ve come to tell me?’
‘No. That was context. I’ve come to say that you released Clive Ronan because you had to. I knew that at the time although I didn’t want to admit it. Especially to myself.’
I had to tread very carefully here. ‘Monique’s murderer was probably Clive Ronan – that part is still unclear – but his accomplice was definitely Isabella Barclay, otherwise known as Odette Duval – the concierge who gave him access to the apartment block and spliced the security tape, subsequently commandeered by you. It’s not the Time Police’s fault. She’s good – she was Head of IT at St Mary’s – but I think, now that you know what you’re looking for, your people will find it.’
Now for the difficult bit. Because Barclay had been murdered by Miss Van Owen, who herself had been invited to join the unknowing Time Police. She’d been right here under their noses and I didn’t want them looking too deeply into that. Van Owen couldn’t afford any sort of investigation.
I ploughed on. ‘I now see the force of the argument you made for releasing Clive Ronan and I apologise. You were right and I was wrong.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, surprised. ‘I am happy to accept your apology.’
There was a short silence and then she said, ‘How is Matthew?’
I think I’ve already mentioned Matthew’s occasionally worrying ability to adapt to any living environment in which he found himself. Given some of the things that had happened to him, this was an advantage, but the one thing that did worry me – the one thing we couldn’t give him at St Mary’s – was the company of his own kind. Other kids his own age. Yes, I suspected he had a higher mental age than many at St Mary’s and could happily mix with adults, but that private teenage language kids have, the constant obsession with phones, holos, celebrities, sport, music, slang, what’s hot and what’s not – all that had been the one thing the Time Police had provided, and we couldn’t, because they’d sent him to school. He’d spent his mornings at a conventional school just across the river. We couldn’t do that. Not with Clive Ronan still around somewhere. Matthew himself didn’t seem concerned about this, but I was. Which was another of the reasons I was here.
I kept my voice calm and neutral. ‘He’s in good health, thank you. He is receiving one-to-one tutoring which is working very well. His tutor tells me he has an excellent foundation on which to build and for that I thank you. He does occasionally ask after Captain Ellis.’
Ellis had been Matthew’s mentor during his time with the Time Police.
She nodded.
I forged on. ‘I wanted to say . . . perhaps it would be possible – even if Ronan is never captured – which is something I must accept – when Matthew’s old enough to understand the risk – I could talk to Leon – perhaps Matthew could return here – if you agree, of course – to do his 6th-form work.’
I think we were all taken aback at that. I pushed on. ‘And should Captain Ellis so wish, Leon and I would be happy to welcome him to St Mary’s for a visit in the meantime.’
I kept my voice as steady as I could. ‘I know that to lose someone to whom you have become close – to lose them suddenly and without warning – is not pleasant. Knowing that, it was wrong of me to do the same to Captain Ellis. I am certain he and Matthew must miss each other.’
I couldn’t think of anything else to say so I shut up.
It was good to know I could still surprise the hell out of the Time Police. I’d done quite a good job of surprising myself as well.
Eventually, she said, ‘Thank you. I shall pass along your message. I’m sure Captain Ellis will be happy to take you up on your invitation. He has never mentioned it but I think he misses . . .’ She stopped. I think we were both slightly adrift in the murky waters of gracious apology and even more gracious acceptance.
I nodded and got up to go.
‘Just one moment,’ she said, and I panicked she was going to have me arrested for something or other.
‘I too should apologise. We . . . I . . . should have done more to prepare you for what must have been the shock of Ronan’s release. You invested a great deal of yourself in that assignment and we could have handled things better. We . . . I . . . was remiss. I apologise.’
Well, look at us. It only needed a flower-bedecked Officer Grint – in full Time Police combat gear – to dance in warbling a madrigal to complete the unlikeliness of the scene. I should get out of here before I did or said something to ruin everything. I thanked her and headed towards the door.
‘I’ll walk you down,’ she said, reverting to normal because that’s Time Police speak for, ‘I’ll make sure you don’t set fire to anything on your way out.’
We emerged back into the atrium. The day was progressing and the crowds had subsided a little. There was no waiting to go through security if you were with the commander of the Time Police and Captain Farenden had obviously called ahead. An officer waved us through the security barriers. We found a quiet seat among all the landscaping and sat down to await the return of Peterson and Markham.
She turned to me. ‘And how are you, Max?’
‘Absolutely fine,’ I said. ‘Apart from my all-consuming and ever-present irrational fears that someone’s coming over the roof to steal Matthew away.’
‘Well, I can’t speak for the rest of the world – and you know how you make friends wherever you go – but I can safely promise you anyone coming over the roof won’t be Time Police.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, considerably relieved, because I believed her.
‘No – we’ll be the ones blowing the front doors off and mounting a full-frontal assault.’
I had no idea if she was joking or not. Fortunately, before we could really get down to antagonising each other, Captain Ellis appeared in a doorway across the hall. Peterson was with him. They were halfway across the atrium when someone called them back. Markham appeared in the doorway and trotted towards them. ‘You left your file in the interview room, Captain.’
There was an infinitesimal pause. ‘Ah yes,’ said Ellis. ‘Thank you.’ He took the file and tucked it under his arm. ‘That could have been embarrassing.’ He turned to me. ‘We will, of course, thoroughly investigate this information . . .’
‘When will Leon be released?’
There was a pause. I got all set to bring the building down around their ears. The expression ‘fight like a girl’ takes on a whole new meaning when the girl is from St Mary’s, and then Commander Hay said, ‘Well, if everything checks out – a couple of days. Yes, I know,’ she added before I could say anything, ‘but you must see we can’t just take your word for it. You’re hardly a disinterested party.’
‘Can I see him?’
‘Not at the moment,’ she said.
‘Because?’
‘Because I say so,’ she said gently.
I shifted my stance. Just ever so slightly. Peterson and Markham lined up behind me.
I wouldn’t put it past these buggers to execute him and then plead ‘friendly fire’ afterwards.
She sighed. ‘Because Chief Farrell is cooperating fully and while he’s being interrogated, I don’t want that interrogation contaminated by any outside sources. Chief Farrell’s evidence will be so much more valuable if he can corroborate your information entirely independently.’
‘Understood,’ said Markham and I nodded a complicated nod indicating I didn’t want to upset our shiny new relationship while still giving the impression that everything had better pan out – or else.
We were politely offered refreshments before we left.
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Peterson, greatly surprising me. He looked at Markham. ‘We’d love a coffee, wouldn’t we?’
Markham nodded. Commander Hay glanced from me to Ellis.
‘Of course. Please come this way.’
They walked away and I was alone with Ellis.
We sat down. I looked at the landscaping. He looked at his feet. Voices echoed around us but we were silent.
‘Well,’ he said, eventually. ‘I’d better be off.’
I swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry.’
He said nothing.
‘I was angry.’
We both knew what I was talking about. Years ago, we’d both been to Pompeii on the most exciting – and coincidentally the last – day of its existence. Ellis had been trapped under a street cart, slowly suffocating under the volcanic ash as his legs burned. I’d pulled him out. Without me he would have died.
At TPHQ, when we’d parted on such bad terms, I’d told him I wished I’d left him in Pompeii to die there. It had been a dreadful thing to say. He’d saved me more times than I’d saved him. And he’d been Matthew’s mentor. Under his care, Matthew had made enormous strides, socially and educationally.
I said again, ‘I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.’
He cleared his throat. ‘So am I, Max.’