Death of Time (SpaceFed StarShips Series Book 4) 2nd Edition.: A thrilling, psychological, Mystery and Suspense, sci-fi detective thriller. (SpaceFed StarShips Trilogy)

by Gerry A. Saunders

  He was looking forward to meeting Charlie and finding out exactly what job he was needed for.

  Micky had joined the little-known division of elite criminal investigators known only as SEID, three years earlier.

  He had a special hidden talent that he hadn’t sensed in anyone else. A dangerous ‘ability’ that could brand him as an outcast if the public ever got to know about it.

  He couldn’t read minds, as such. But he could ‘sense’ increases in emotional activity, especially when he deliberately asked someone a question and they lied.

  Of course, that meant he could also sense the anger and heightened emotion from a distance. But he couldn’t pinpoint the source, just the direction.

  The scan last night was a shock. It meant that he wasn’t the only one with this ‘special ability.' He wasn’t alone, and he had no idea where the scan came from.

  He walked into the lounge area and picked a seat, making sure he sat with his back to the wall. He wanted to be able to see anyone who showed any interest in him.

  Then he ordered a Cappuccino from the waiter, ‘mentally-feeling’ around him as he waited.

  But he could ‘feel’ nothing.

  The Cappuccino was stronger than the American espresso he was used to, and he wasn’t sure that he liked it. But he drank it anyway then checked his watch, 10 25.

  Whoever Charlie is, he’s late, he thought.

  There were quite a few men and women in the area, some of them talking to each other in groups. He noticed two burly looking men who were on their own, and a white-haired woman who was just being told off for lighting a cigarette. But he couldn't see anyone who looked similar to what he thought Charlie should look like.

  He closed his eyes for a moment. Then a voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “Are you Micky?”

  He opened his eyes and stared at the woman standing in front of him.

  “Yes,” he sputtered in surprise as he rose from his seat. He had assumed Charlie was a man. “You must be Charlie?”

  “Of course. It’s Ok, everyone thinks Charlie is a man’s name.”

  “Well, I have to admit I did, until now,” he answered with a smile.

  “Christine is my real name, Charlie’s my work name.”

  “Mine’s Micky, both ways. Coffee?”

  “Yes please.”

  He raised his arm, beckoning the waiter, as they sat down. “Two coffees, please,” Micky ordered.

  “Both Cappuccino’s, sir?”

  Micky looked at Charlie for confirmation and she nodded yes, then said. “Oh, a glass of water as well.”

  “Yes miss,” the waiter acknowledged, seeing her ringless fingers.

  Micky couldn’t help noticing how alluring she looked. Her white blouse seemed to mimic the fullness of her body underneath. Her hair was curled into a kind of bun, and was coppery-red, complementing the colour of her full firm lips. With her tight skirt and shoes almost colour-matching her blue-green eyes.

  Wow, he thought to himself. I’m definitely going to have trouble concentrating when she’s around.

  “I know,” she said.

  He looked embarrassed.

  “I get the same reaction from most men,” she added, having seen him looking her over.

  “Sorry, it’s just that you’re not what I expected.”

  Thankfully, the waiter brought their coffees and they drank them in silence.

  “That was refreshing.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. Then as she picked up her glass of water, her hand seemed to jerk, and water cascaded down her cleavage.

  They both burst into laughter. The ice was broken.

  “So, what are you, Charlie?”

  “I’m your liaison officer for the police. If you can’t get it, I can.”

  “What else? If we’re going to be working together, tell me more about you.”

  “If you mean me personally, then I’m just an ordinary girl.”

  “In your mind, maybe. But what are your hobbies? Are you married? Or do you have a boyfriend? Perhaps you’d like to have sex with me?” He stopped and smiled again. “Sorry, just joking. Maybe not that kind of thing.”

  “Just staying alive would be good,” she replied, ignoring his remarks.

  “That’s tricky in our line of business,” he replied.

  “But seriously, what do you like to do outside of work?”

  “For relaxation I like sketching and painting. I also enjoy music a lot. On the physical side, I’m into bodybuilding. Plus martial arts, at black-belt level.

  “Wow. So, are you married?”

  No, I’m not married, and at present, I don’t have a boyfriend either.”

  “Why not?”

  “Haven’t found anyone I really fancy. Before you say more, no I don’t anticipate having a relationship with you…, at least, not until I know you better.”

  “Well, that’s a start.”

  “What about you Micky, any hobbies?

  “None that I can think off, just work.”

  “Everyone has hobbies.”

  “Yes, most people do. But I don’t remember having any. Cedrick reckons that I must have been in an accident.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t remember anything further back than five years ago, which explains my lack of memory. Anything before that time is a blank.”

  “But, you’re obviously highly educated. You must remember something from your past.”

  “I agree. Maybe I should, but as I said it’s all a blank. I don’t remember my parents, where I grew up, or anything else.”

  “You must remember something, something tiny even?”

  “I wish I could… Cedrick reckons that I did have some memories when he first knew me, then even those memories went.”

  “Then it must be obvious to you, that Cedrick’s the key to your past.”

  “Well, he may be but he won’t tell me anything. That’s because he thinks it’s too dangerous for me to know.”

  “Alright, so, what is this ‘SEID’ organisation?”

  “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  “Oh, don’t talk rubbish. You’re not in a gangster movie.”

  “Oops, touchy aren’t we?”

  “I just get sick and tired of people acting so stupidly.”

  “Blimey,” he mockingly exclaimed in a British accent.

  “Ok,” he said, relenting. “SEID is a specialist organisation attached to the Chicago police force, and some of its people have very exceptional talents.”

  “So, Cedrick’s basically a policeman?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Geeze Micky, he is, or he isn’t. Seems straight forward to me.”

  “Then, no… He just works very closely with them.”

  “Ok. So where are SEID’s offices?”

  “Now I’m getting bored. You’re asking me to tell you something you don’t need to know.”

  “Why don’t I need to know?”

  “Ok, I give in,” he sighed. “But this is my final answer on the subject. Cedric was the original founder of the organisation, and, even though, the organisation isn’t his now, their offices are still located on part of his estate.”

  Looking thoughtfully at Charlie, he added. “I owe Cedric and his wife, Linda, everything. So that, my dear Charlie, is the end of this particular discussion.”

  “OK. So, when did you first realise this ‘spot-a-criminal’ talent that Cedrick mentioned? And how does it work? Cedrick was very vague about it.”

  “Sorry, but it seems to be a very ordinary thing to me, and I don’t remember when I first became aware of it.”

  “OK,” she replied, giving up for the moment.

  “We’ll talk about it again later when we have more time. Right. Now for the serious stuff,” she said taking an electronic pad out of her briefcase.

  Opening the pad, she tapped an icon on its screen, and they both watched as a grisly cavalcade of photos were displayed.


  The first batch of pictures showed each of the seven murder victims at the site of their killings. The next two batches provided close-ups of the metal tube, shown both in and out of each of the victim’s bodies.

  “They’re pretty nasty,” he remarked.

  “Yes.”

  “So, isn’t there anything in common with any of the victims, Charlie?”

  “Nothing, anyone, can find, just the method of killing them. Which is ostensibly by the metal tube.”

  “Yeah, but I can see that you don’t really think it is the murder weapon, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. In fact, we all believe that their deaths were caused by some other means.”

  “We?”

  “The police.”

  “Then, you’ll be glad to know that I agree with you, Charlie.”

  “Well, you’ve been brought in as a specialist. So what do you want to do next?”

  “Examine one of the bodies and the metal tube.”

  “We can show you the tube-weapon. But a body might be harder, the autopsies have already been made.”

  “OK, that’s not perfect, but at least we have these pictures of the victims and I assume that we’ll be able to access the autopsy reports. Yes?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good, I can live with that. Shall we go?”

  “Fine, but have you booked out yet?” she asked as they stood up.

  “No. I assumed that as I’m working for the police you would be paying my bill.”

  What a cheek, she thought, then sharply replied. “Well, I hope you haven’t spent too much.”

  As she spoke, Micky sensed a feeling of annoyance from her as her emotions rose then fell.

  “Well, you chose the hotel, Charlie,” he replied, matching her tone. “I’m sure it’s only petty cash for your organisation anyway,” he added, then paused to see if there was any reaction but felt nothing.

  Interesting, he thought.

  Then said. “Oh, by the way, I’ll need somewhere to stay tonight but it doesn’t need to be as expensive.”

  “Right. Get your stuff and meet me at the desk. We’ll talk about where to stay later. What’s your room number?”

  “Um, 43 I think. Just ask to pay for Micky Sanderson’s room.”

  “I hope your work’s better than your memory,” she muttered to herself as they went their separate ways.

  After the bill had been paid with Charlie’s police credit-card, she joined Micky as he waited by the hotel entrance.

  She looked at him, then at his meagre luggage and said.

  “Really. Just one small case?”

  “Yes, it’s enough for me, I travel light.”

  “Oh, the bare-minimum type. It’s lucky I had the detailed body photos and weapon sent directly to Belgravia police station,” she said with a slightly sarcastic smirk on her face.

  “I’m impressed,” he answered, with a grin. “Now that’s what I call thinking ahead.”

  “Don’t you ever think ahead?”

  “Of course,” he answered as they walked outside.

  A black Limo pulled up. The chauffeur got out and opened the rear door for them. Once inside, they strapped themselves in, then Micky put his case on the floor between his legs.

  “Where to Charlie?” the driver asked.

  “Belgravia police station, James.”

  “Right,” he replied as he moved out and headed down Buckingham Palace Road.

  The traffic was horrendous, and after being stuck in it with very little forwards movement for what seemed ages, they got out and walked the last hundred metres or so to the station.

  The sergeant behind the desk looked up as they entered, and greeted Charlie beckoning them to come to the front of the queue.

  “Fred’s waiting for you two in the conference room,” he said, casting his eye over Micky.

  “Didn’t know you had one, Albert.”

  “Very amusing. Of course you did Charlie,” he replied, smiling as he tapped an authorization code into his computer.

  He handed each of them a thin access-card, released the internal door catch and ushered them through.

  “See you both on your way out,” he said, then turned back to the next in the queue.

  Fred was a CID Police Inspector. He was a well-built grey-haired man in his late fifties, sporting a smart black leather jacket, grey trousers and a ‘goatee beard.'

  “So you’re Micky.” he said as both men shook hands.

  “Yes, so I’m told.”

  “You’ve got a cheeky one here, Charlie,” Fred observed giving Micky a hard look.

  “Tell me about it, Fred. I only met him this morning.”

  Ignoring their jokey comments, Micky looked around and seeing a metal tube laid on Fred’s desk picked it up.

  “Is this the weapon?”

  “Yes, a rather ordinary looking piece of metal isn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily Fred. In my experience, it’s often what you don’t notice that’s valuable to me.”

  “Oh, right then,” Fred replied, thinking, ‘He’s an arrogant sod.’

  “Ok, that’s a tube, and here are the high-res photos. What can you see in them?” He then asked Micky.

  Micky ignoring Fred’s slightly derisive look, handled the tube, inspecting it carefully, from end to end.

  He then went through the photos, noting that they were higher quality than the ones on Charlie’s pad, so had more detail and definition. He took his time.

  “Well?” Fred asked at last, his impatience getting the better of him.

  Micky put one finger to his mouth. “Wait,” he said.

  Fifteen more minutes had passed before he’d completed his inspection of all the exhibits.

  “Well?” Fred asked again, raising his voice this time.

  “Ok. Here’s how I see it,” Micky began. “Take this photo of the inside of the wound. Do you see?” He asked as he pointed to the picture in question.

  “I don’t see anything, it’s just a messy hole.”

  “No, Fred. Look closely at the inner wall of the hole. Now, what do you see?”

  “Some burnt areas,” Charlie remarked not waiting for Fred to answer.

  “Yes, we saw those, naturally,” Fred said to Micky, giving Charlie an angry look at the same time.

  “And like you Micky, we don’t think that it’s a straight forward punch-through job.”

  “Could it have been caused by a shotgun? A 1twelve-bore?” Charlie asked. “That can give you burnt flesh effects if it’s fired at close range.”

  Micky shook his head. “No, Charlie. The hole would appear similar at first glance to a shot from the front. Possibly from a couple of metres away.

  But, the hole in the body would have severely ragged edges, to say the least as the shot ripped through it.”

  “In any case,” Fred added. “The lead shot would have blown the flesh out of his back, in a conical shape. No, I agree. It’s not possible.”

  “What, like the effects of a dum-dum bullet, from a magnum revolver, for instance, Fred?” Charlie persisted.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “Well, what about a thermal lance then?” Charlie asked.

  “Right thinking, but the wrong weapon,” Micky replied.

  “Agreed. A thermal lance could burn right through the body, but it wouldn’t burn flesh and bone like that.”

  Fred paused to think. “No, I agree. Not a hole that size, and one that’s perfectly round.”

  “Perhaps a new type of weapon?” Charlie wondered.

  “That’s what I’m beginning to think,” added Micky picking up the metal tube again.

  “I think,” he said. Then looked at them both to make sure they were listening carefully.

  “That possibly a weapon of some sort cut a hole right through the victim.

  The metal tube was then forced through the hole and left in situ to prevent any external sign of bleeding.”

  He paused again and added. “And to cover up the re
al cause of death.”

  Then stood quietly thinking it through. “But that theory leaves us with a problem,” he paused again, briefly, looking at them both.

  “No flesh or blood has been found at any of the crime scenes. Even though some would have been forced out of the body as the weapon cut the hole, and when the tube was then forced through,” he said. Then stopped yet again.

  “But. If we now theorise that, instead of cutting a hole, it actually burnt a hole through the victim instead. Then the body fluids would have been vapourised as it burnt its way through the body cauterising the flesh. Thus forming an apparently bloodless hole.

  Yep, I reckon the metal tube was then just pushed through and left in situ to cover up the real cause of death.

  And the metal tube would have roughed up or scraped, the inner wall of the wound as it went through, hence the messy interior appearance of the hole.”

  Micky stopped speaking as he ‘felt’ a mental probe. He sent a mental-stab back as hard as he could, looking around at everyone as he did so, but no one showed any sign of sensing his probe.

  So, not close then, he thought.

  “Micky, are you saying that it’s definitely a new weapon?” Fred asked.

  “Yes. Right now, maybe. But I need to check if there’s something in use already that could have a wide enough beam. Like a high-powered laser, for instance.”

  “If there was anything it would almost certainly have to be a military weapon,” Charlie pointed out.

  ”But surely a laser would have to be enormous to cut a hole that size, wouldn’t it?” she queried.

  “That’s true. But even so we need to check it out. Starting with a web-search, and looking for any military sources that may be able to help us. We can’t rule anything out at this stage.”

  “I think you’d have more clout than I would have in getting to the source for that sort of information. It must be classified, or we would already have heard of it.” Fred suggested.

  “Maybe so.”

  Micky pondered a while, then asked. “Fred, was there any sign of atomized blood, any minute particles around the body, or on the wall, anywhere?”