“Of course. Why wouldn’t you?”
“You might have bloody well asked me.”
Micky ignored her comment but was pleased when he sensed that she was following him.
The flight from Newark to Philadelphia took just under an hour, but it seemed much longer and more stressful than Micky would have liked. Time appeared to drag, but by the time they had checked in at the Renaissance Philadelphia Airport Hotel, Micky was surprised to find that it was still only five-thirty. It had felt as if they had been travelling all day.
“I need a rest,” he said, slumping onto the bed.
“Me too,” she said. Then, seeing his drawn looking face, asked.
“Are you all right, Micky?”
“I’ve never felt better,” he answered, sitting up.
“You could have fooled me,” she replied making light of her concern.
“I fancy a drink before freshening up, how about you?”
“Yeah, if you can work this coffee machine?”
“Of course I can.”
Charlie started making the coffee while Micky set up his Laptop and scrambler device. Then they sat down, quietly sipping their coffee.
“I feel better now Charlie…,” he started to say when there was a beep from his Laptop. He looked at the screen to see Cedrick’s smiling face peering out at him.
“You can’t leave us alone for a minute, Cedrick,” Micky said despairingly.
“Sorry to interrupt you both, but I’ve got a favour to ask.”
“Of course Cedrick,” Charlie said without thinking.
“Thanks, Charlie. Micky, Lieutenant Armstrong is a friend of mine in homicide. He’s heard of your success rate in solving complicated crimes and has asked me if you’d help him. I’m afraid I had to say yes.”
“That’s okay Cedrick. We can see him after we’ve been to Cebro.”
“Ah, there’s the rub Micky. I told him you’d be able to go to see him first thing in the morning.”
Then Cedric closed his eyes, waiting for Micky’s blast.
“That’ll be okay, Cedrick. Set it up. I’m sure Cebro’s security is on the ball so we can see them afterwards.”
Cedrick looked relieved.
“Thanks, Micky. I’ll arrange a Limo for 10 o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Fine. Can I ask where we’re we going then, out of interest?”
“Ridley area. He’s on Partridge Avenue I believe.”
“Not far away from Cebro then?”
“No, that’s why I thought you’d be OK with it.”
“We’ll be ready,” Charlie added. “Are you joining us?”
“No, it’s nowhere near me.”
“That’s a shame Cedrick, I’d like to have met you.”
“We will Charlie when this case is cleared up.”
“Good, I’ll look forward to it.”
“By the way Lieutenant Armstrong said he’ll meet you both there. You can also use one of his unmarked cars while you’re there. That is, as long as you don’t mind using one of his drivers?”
“You mean a chauffeur.”
“An armed chauffeur Micky.”
“That sounds good to me Cedrick,” Charlie remarked, feeling relieved.
“And to me, Cedrick.”
“Then it’s settled. The car will be waiting outside for you tomorrow morning at 10 o’clock.”
“Thanks, Cedrick,” Micky said as the connection ended.
Micky, looking at his watch, was surprised to see that it was already 18:05.
“Charlie, do you want to go out for a meal, or shall we eat here?”
“Let’s have it here.”
“Okay,” he replied, sounding relieved. He felt tired and was pleased to stay in tonight. He carried out another mental scan, but nothing registered out of the norm.
By 10:15, and with a meal under their belts, both decided to go to bed. To sleep.
Micky lay there looking at Charlie thinking that she looked peaceful lying next to him. She soon fell asleep, but although he was tired, he couldn’t sleep with everything that was going round and round in his mind.
He couldn’t help thinking that there must be something in his past that was connected to the present situation.
When Cedrick found him five years or so ago, he was in a sorry state and had apparently told Cedrick lots of things. Most of which, he realised as he lay there thinking, he had since forgotten.
But he sometimes had flashes of memory, only fragments, and not enough to make any sense. So maybe the most sensible thing he could do, would be to make Cedrick repeat everything that he had told him.
‘No, that wouldn’t work,’ he thought. Remembering that Cedrick had promised not to remind him of what he had said, not under any circumstances.
Because, if Cedrick did tell him, then that in turn would negate any correction that he had told Cedrick he was here to make. Even though, he still didn’t remember what it was.
No, he decided. He must trust Cedrick’s judgment on this.
He still couldn’t sleep, his mind kept drifting back to his wife, Alesha. He still missed her, but she had died a long time ago, and since then he had been forced to sort his life out.
Then his thoughts drifted on to his memory loss. Charlie was right, he must have had a good education to be where he was today.
Or is it just because of my special mental abilities, he wondered. No, he knew he was doing a good job for SEID.
He was still restless and tossed around, thinking about everything.
‘Come on, I’ve got to stop running myself down, I need to sleep,’ he thought.
But his mind was still active and led him into thinking about how he seemed to automatically know how to do most things. But then, at times, found himself stumped over something random.
But Charlie was right, his memory loss did seem to be very selective.
He thought again about Cedrick and his wife, Linda. He owed them everything. They were his only family.
He did, however, regret making Linda nervous one day by placing a dollar coin on the table, then after several attempts, moving it without actually touching it.
He remembered her saying to him that he must never tell anyone what he could do. Then asserting, in no uncertain terms, that she really did mean he must never tell anyone. Or he’d be branded a freak and taken by the military.
He remembered telling her that he would keep it to himself. But that hadn’t been good enough for her. She had made him promise.
If moving objects weren't the norm, come to that, neither was reading people’s emotions. But he was grateful to Cedrick’s friends Anna and Carmen, for sticking with him in his quest to enhance his mental ability. Which, in fact, still seemed to be getting stronger with every day.
No, there must be another reason why his talent was getting stronger even though he was getting physically weaker day by day.
And, not knowing himself how he sensed it, he felt sure that he was slowly dying.
I must find the strength to finish what I started. I have to, he thought as he turned over and felt the warmth of Charlie lying next to him.
She felt good. He was thankful that she was also a fighter.
Finally, he managed to doze off.
Chapter 19.
Intrusion.
Micky cringed. The green light was everywhere. It seemed to permeate his body. He screamed with terror as he saw a man looking down at him.
He struggled to move, but couldn’t.
The man held a weapon in his hand and was laughing at him.
The thought, ‘It’s the killer’s weapon,’ screamed through Micky’s mind.
“Well, Micky. Micky, is that what you call yourself? Pathetic.”
Then blackness came.
Later, the green light returned. Micky still couldn’t move. He felt as if he was encased in this accursed and perpetual green light.
Come on. Get a grip, get a grip you pathetic fool, Micky urged himself.
The man was back. Still pointing his weapon. Still laughing at him.
“Pathetic,” the man jeered. “You’re pathetic, Micky. You should be dead.”
Micky tried to speak, but couldn’t.
‘Mom,’ he mentally screamed. ‘Mom.’
The man holding the weapon moved it back and forth in front of Micky’s eyes.
“You’re stupid, your Mom can’t help you. You’re motherless. Pathetic, pathetic.”
Micky screamed again as he saw the man slowly squeezing the weapon’s trigger.
“Bye-bye, Micky.”
Then a purple flame surrounded him, and he felt his body fly apart into a billion particles.
Suddenly, he was conscious of Charlie shaking him violently.
“Micky. Wake up, Micky. Wake up.”
He sat up. He was in bed, sweating profusely and with a thumping headache.
“He’s gone,” he groaned in relief.
“Who’s gone, Micky? There’s nobody here but us.”
“The man, the killer.”
“Don’t be silly….” she said, seeing the state of him.
“It was just a nightmare, darling,” she added putting her arm around his shoulder. Nestling him into her body.
“No. He was in my mind, I’m sure of it,” he groaned. “There was a green light all around me.”
“Micky,” she said, smiling softly at him, trying to make light of it.
“Look,” she said, pointing. “What’s in that picture over there?”
“Um, the Northern lights, I think.”
“And what colour are they?”
“Green,” he answered. “I must admit I hadn’t noticed it before.”
“There you go then.”
“All right, Charlie. I get the point,” he replied feeling better.
She checked the time. 2 am. “Come on. Let’s try to get some sleep in what’s left of the night.”
“I’m sorry I woke you, Charlie,” he said and kissed her.
“You will be if you wake me again,” she jokingly threatened as they settled back to go to sleep.
‘I still think the damn killer was in my head,’ he thought to himself. ‘Just like before.’
Chapter 20.
Helping a Friend.
Next morning, they awoke reasonably refreshed after what had after all been a reasonable night’s sleep, although interrupted.
Charlie felt a bit sick, but the sickness soon passed.
Once dressed, they went down and enjoyed a full American breakfast.
They were ready to leave by ten. Both of them armed, with their revolvers readily available.
Micky, scanning the area around the hotel again, picked up a mental image of the driver who was on loan to them. He was waiting outside. His mental image projected authority and determination.
“Charlie, our car’s here,” he called out. Then after checking that they had everything, they left making sure the door was locked. On their way out handing their room access card in at reception.
A burly looking man in his late twenties was standing near the entrance door waiting for them.
“I’m Christen,” he said, introducing himself while enthusiastically offering his hand.
“I’m Micky Sanderson. My partner is…”
“Just call me Charlie,” she interrupted, smiling at Christen.
“Glad to meet you both. I’ll be looking after you for as long as you need me.”
“Well, Mr Christen, I’m sure we’ll get along.”
“I don’t mean to be rude Mr Christen,” Charlie added, grinning slightly. “Are those hidden weapons and a bulletproof vest? Or just muscles?”
“All three, um…Charlie,” he replied looking proud of himself.
“I’ve got BV’s in the Limo for both of you. The Lieutenant thought you might need them when we go to Cebro. One of them should fit you, Miss.”
“Nice of him,” Charlie remarked. “You can call me Charlie.”
“Micky will do for me.”
“Chris is better for me if that’s Ok. We find we get more cooperation if we’re not too formal with the public. Except when we have to be, of course.”
“We can live with that. Let’s get going.”
“Follow me, please,” he ordered as he turned and strode out to the Limo. His long strides leaving both of them hurrying behind him.
The Limo, a long black Mercedes, was armoured, and specially built to protect its occupants from most things. Small arms fire, in particular. But as with all vehicles, it was impossible to keep them safe from everything.
Once they were in the Limo, and secure. Chris drove off, accelerating away at high speed; the engine having been geared up to cope with the added weight of the armour.
He made his way out and onto the Delaware Expressway heading towards Ridley Park, increasing the car’s speed all the time. While they both sat holding their seat straps and looking tense.
Ten minutes later, the Limo rocketed off the Expressway, joined Sellers Avenue and drove down it, finally screeching to a halt behind a police car, and directly outside Anderson’s property.
“Geeze,” Micky muttered, “Do you always drive like that Chris?”
“Quite often. The Lieutenant should have told you that my job is diplomatic protection.”
“I wish he had,” Charlie remarked as she moved to get out of the car.
“One moment, please,” Chris said, then entered a code on a small panel and the doors opened. As they got out, a man in uniform approached them.
“I’m Lieutenant Armstrong,” he said, introducing himself.
“Morning Lieutenant,” Micky replied shaking hands.
“So, you’re the infamous Micky Sanderson. You must be Charlie,” he added smiling at her.
“Cedrick’s told me all about both of you.”
Startled, they looked at each other for a moment.
“Um, yes. Glad to meet you, Lieutenant.”
“You too, Miss,” the Lieutenant replied, not sure what to say to Charlie.
Micky mentally checked the surrounding area, filtering out the police and anyone else who exhibited normal levels of tension as he did so. This left one person, the occupant of the house, who was obviously in an extremely emotional state.
“Right, let's give you both a quick summary of the situation, Micky.”
“Okay.”
“Mr Anderson was shot two weeks ago, He was found in his living room. There were no signs of forced entry. No unidentified fingerprints and no reports of any suspicious activity in the area.
We’ve interviewed his wife at length, and though we can’t prove it as yet we believe that she murdered her husband and is lying through her teeth.” he paused momentarily. “We can’t get her to crack.
Unfortunately, even though there are no other viable suspects, much of the evidence is circumstantial. We simply don’t have enough hard evidence to charge her and make it stick.
However, we’ve got the ballistics report on the bullet. Plus the spectrographic report confirming the type of propellant. So we believe that inspection of the murder weapon will enable us to prove her guilt,” he explained then paused again.
“We’ve searched the house and grounds. But haven’t found the gun. However, we’re sure that it’s still here on the property, somewhere.”
Micky was horrified. “Your case against her can’t just be dependent on finding a weapon. You must have more dirt on her than that?”
“Well, we might have more Micky,” he replied.
“You see, Mrs Anderson reckons she wasn’t at home that day. Now, while we don’t have anyone who can prove that she was at home. She can’t provide anyone to corroborate that she was where she said she was,” he ended.
“So basically. You’re asking me to find the weapon that matches your ballistics test. And, to somehow, get her to tell you the truth about where she really was on that day. Yes?”
“Exactly, Micky.”
“What’s her husband’s fi
rst name?”
“Ken.”
“OK, then let me see if I can extract the info from her if possible.”
The Lieutenant stared at him for a moment. Then looking as if he thought Micky should at least be suggesting something more scientific, slowly replied, “Alright, you play it the way you think best.”
“Are you wearing a mic?” Micky asked him.
“Yes, we’re all miked-up these days.”
“Good. Let’s go then.”
All three went towards the house while Chris stayed out by their car, his hand resting on the butt of his gun.
Lieutenant Armstrong pressed the door bell, then stood back and waited.
Mrs Anderson opened the door. Micky estimated that she was in her mid-thirties, about 5 feet 8 tall and looked well-heeled. Her hair was auburn but seemed to have a mind of its own.
She stared at them, looking thoroughly annoyed at having to answer to the police again.
“Sorry to trouble you, Mrs Anderson. I expect you remember me, I’m Lieutenant Armstrong from homicide. This is my colleague, special agent Micky Sanderson from the elite criminal investigators division.”
“Why are you, here again? Don’t you think you’ve pestered me enough? My husband’s dead, remember,” she snapped irritably.
Micky watched her carefully.
Her emotional make-up was fluctuating randomly. He needed to do something to make her relax, or he’d achieve nothing.
“I’m sorry, we don’t mean to stress you," he said, letting his voice fade away while mentally urging her to give him her first name.
“It’s Anna,” she said, looking at him strangely.
“Thank you, Anna. May we come in?” He asked, pausing a moment.
“I don’t know about you, but I find it very chilly this time of year,” he added. At the same time sending her a calming emotional nudge.
Death of Time (SpaceFed StarShips Series Book 4) 2nd Edition.: A thrilling, psychological, Mystery and Suspense, sci-fi detective thriller. (SpaceFed StarShips Trilogy) Page 13