Out of Time

by Steven Allinson

Back in London, Neil found an empty bay on Emerald Street and parked up. His chin was sore, but at least the agony nestled in his gut had all but gone.

  Neil held the glass door leading into Hybrid’s foyer open for Artimus, who nodded his thanks and made his way straight over to the reception desk.

  “Hello, my name is Artimus Crane and this is Detective Townsend of Scotland Yard. I believe we have an appointment with someone in charge.” said Artimus, in full chirp.

  The woman behind the counter smiled and brought up a schedule on her computer. Behind her, four huge monitors played videos of massive sequencing machines busily testing samples, whilst men in white coats milled around and pointed appreciatively at the goings-on. In the background, corporate slogans blurted out from strategically placed speakers, and the colour scheme of cream and white, offset by chrome, gave the building the air of something you would see in a science fiction movie.

  “Doctor Waites, our project lead, is coming to meet you.” said the woman, pointing toward a row of chairs. “If you’d like to take a seat, he’ll be down shortly.”

  “Thank you.” said Artimus, before retiring from the desk. “This is a distinctly ostentatious place.” he said, as Neil took a seat by his side. “I would not be surprised if nothing goes on here. It actually looks like a front.”

  “Have you seen many fronts?” asked Neil, not sure if he even wanted to converse with Artimus anymore.

  “Just the few hundred or so.” said Artimus, as a man came into the room wearing a white jacket. “Ah, Doctor Waites. A pleasure.” Artimus stood and walked over to the man, shaking him vigorously by the hand. “An ecossaise; second degree if I have correctly counted the bees surrounding the hive on your pin badge. I was unaware the Devil’s Tavern Lodge still existed, I thought it was now a free house called the Prospect of Whitby?”

  Doctor Waites stared. His light stubble and glasses seemed to give the moment a semblance of gravitas, coughing before he spoke. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mister..?”

  “Crane, Artimus Crane; Grand Master of the Grand Lodge of England after Lord Scarborough’s departure, presiding over the Ancient Lodge and provincial Lodges from seventy-seven to eighty-four.” said Artimus moving to stand toe-to-toe with Doctor Waites. “Believe me adept, I know a masonic badge when I see one.”

  Doctor Waites spun toward at the receptionist, her head still bowed into her magazine, a look of embarrassment and fear washing over him.

  “I think this is the point where you take us to your office and tell us everything you know.” said Artimus, his voice tinged with authoritative calm. “Don’t you?”

  Doctor Waites stood still for a moment, weighing up his options. He glanced at Neil, wondering what to do next, before sighing and pointing toward the double doors leading out of the reception area. “This way gentlemen.”

  The doors led to a long corridor lined by a series of official looking offices and conference rooms. Beyond that, another set of doors opened out into a vast room filled with banks of computer screens. In one corner, maybe a hundred feet away, two glass cases stood illuminated. Men stood inside them wearing strange gloves and helmets that trailed wires to their bases.

  “This is our research suite.” said Doctor Waites, moving between the rows as faces emerged from behind the screens, furtive curiosity causing them to stare. “It’s state of the art.”

  “You do all your research here?” asked Neil, remembering the massive machines displayed in the videos from the foyer. “Where are all the sequencing units?”

  Doctor Waites laughed. “This is not the nineties. All our research is conducted in the cloud these days. There’s no need for any of that equipment anymore. Everything we require can be simulated. The corporate videos simply use those images to impress. I suppose it’s what people expect.”

  At the end of the room, Doctor Waites opened the door to his office and ushered Neil and Artimus inside.

  The room was just how you would assume a scientists office to be. A series of diplomas and accreditations hung in frames on the wall, the solitary desk was sparse, a lone screen and keyboard the only items of note in its centre, and a cheap-looking bamboo plant in a pot sat to one side of an overflowing in-tray.

  Neil took a seat, crossing his legs defensively and trying not to focus on the state of the desk, every OCD fibre of his being screaming at him to neaten it or throw the lot in the bin.

  Doctor Waites sat behind the desk, crossing his fingers and leaning forward, still looking like a naughty schoolchild chastised for being late. “So,” he stumbled, a twitch settling into his cheek muscles, “how can I assist you today.”

  “Do not try to play coy with us, my boy.” said Artimus, firmly. “You know why we have arranged this meeting and you therefore know the information we need. So, how about you start talking and we will redirect your ramblings if you get off the track we need you to follow? You can start by telling us why you chose to hire Mister Grayson and how you came to the decision to give him his house.”

  “Give him his what?” asked Doctor Waites, puzzled.

  “The house that came as part of his package when he joined you.” said Neil.

  Doctor Waites laughed. It was nervous, but seemed genuine. “Doctor Grayson received no house as part of his deal with us, detective. I know we look like we have money to burn, but I can assure you we don’t.”

  Artimus glanced at Neil, the slight crease in his brow telling the story of his thoughts. “So what was in his remuneration package?”

  “Just a salary, pension, and travel allowance.” said Doctor Waites, earnestly. “I was surprised he took the offer to be honest. We could only give him what he was already on, and as a start-up, we don’t have the security of a big pharmaceutical. We took the gamble with trying to get him because scientists of his class tend to be driven by passion rather than money. I assumed we were right.”

  Neil was confused. Both Mister and Missus Grayson stated they were given the property, and neither looked or sounded to have fabricated the tale. If what Doctor Waites was saying was true that surely cast the finger of suspicion directly at Michael Grayson. Only if he lied to his wife and planned everything, did these three stories tie together. However, Neil was also aware that story made little sense. What would the motive be? Why stage something so elaborate where the only end goal was the revelation of what he had done. Something was missing, something big.

  To Neil’s side, Artimus stood and made his way to the diplomas hanging on the wall. “I see you read biochemistry and genetics at Bath. Nice place, terrible university.”

  “I thought it was very pleasant.” said Doctor Waites, defensively. “And the education I received allowed me to get the post I have here, so I…”

  “We both know what allowed you to get the post here, Andrew.” said Artimus, reading Doctor Waites’ first name from one of his accreditations. “Skill was not it. You don’t become a mason without picking up contacts along the way. Is everyone here a devotee to the craft?”

  “I…” stumbled Doctor Waites, shuffling in his seat uncomfortably. “I think I’m the only one.”

  “Think?” said Artimus, with a dismissive guffaw, “You know, you’re probably the most inept adept I’ve ever met. You know more than think boy.”

  Doctor Waites straightened and coughed. “And what would it matter if there was?”

  “Masons, as you well know, are more of a club, an old boy’s network that use the veil of secrecy surrounding the masonic tradition to pursue their own ends outside of the prying eyes of polite society. We both know someone must have promoted you into the position here, because a two-one from Bath certainly did not. So, who was it? And what position of influence does he hold here?”

  Neil could tell Doctor Waites did not want to give that particular secret away, and even though he was not sure of the reason for the question, the fact an answer was being avoided piqued his interest.

  “You know,” said Neil, removing his phone
from his pocket, “withholding information from officers of the law, especially ones investigating a triple murder with direct links to persons at this company, is a criminal offence. Two years jail time I think is currently what is being given out by the courts.” He flipped his phone open and pretended to scan through his contact list. “I can always get a warrant to search these premises. At the very least, the bad press it would generate for your company would almost certainly see you fired.”

  “Please,” said Doctor Waites, raising a palm, “you don’t need to call anyone. Just promise the information I am about to give you remains a secret.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” said Neil, closing his phone. “A name please.”

  “Alright, alright.” said Doctor Waites, rubbing his hands together nervously. “The person who got me this job is the same person who requested we hire Doctor Grayson.”

  “Noel Grayson, Mister Grayson’s brother.” said Artimus, still scanning the certificates on the wall.

  “That’s right. How did…?”

  “Irrelevant.” said Artimus, pursing his lips as he clasped his hands behind his back. “We’ll need the details of the bank account you pay Mister Grayson’s salary into.”

  “Uh, sure.” said Doctor Waites, taking a note. “I’ll get Louise to get that for you before you leave.”

  Artimus turned and smiled. “Can you take us to see Mister Grayson’s team now please?”

  Neil followed Artimus out of the room, trying to weigh up what they had learnt. Noel Grayson looked like a suspect now, but for what? If he requested his brother work here, then what did that have to do with the purchase of the house? Also, why would that have anything to do with the murders, and why have the bodies look like his brother and his wife? What did Artimus think he was on to?

  Stopping at a bank of computers by the side of the strange glass booths, Doctor Waites cleared his throat to get the attention of the group of people sitting there. “This is Detective Townsend and his colleague from Scotland Yard. They have some questions regarding Doctor Grayson they want to ask you. Please avail them of your fullest knowledge.” He nodded to Artimus and turned back toward his office. “I’ll go get that information you requested.”

  “Hello everyone.” said Artimus, cheerily, as Doctor Waites departed. “I am sure you will have seen the news this morning and are probably aware of the fact that three bodies were found at the residence of Doctor Grayson yesterday morning.” A hush ran round the group, some hanging heads and others gasping. It was clear not all had heard. “I ask an open question and one only. Which one of you killed those people?”

  The heads surrounding Artimus snapped toward him, as Neil stepped forward, raising his hands, trying to calm the group. “My colleague meant no offence. He simply…”

  “You, you, and you.” said Artimus, cutting Neil off and pointing to three men. “The rest of you are of no significance to our endeavours.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” said Neil, turning his back to the group and hushing his voice.

  “It was a question designed to provoke a reaction, and the three men I just pointed to showed none. Therefore, they were unfazed by the question because they are either inherently calm, or they have knowledge that prevented the question being a surprise to them.” said Artimus, not lowering the level of his voice to match Neil’s and catching the ear of many in the group. “At least try to keep up.” He walked toward the nearest of the three indicated, motioning for the other two to join them. “Detective Townsend here will take your names, contact details, and current addresses, and you will all be formally interviewed at Scotland Yard in the morning, starting at ten sharp; and no, I do not care it is a Saturday.”

  Chapter 15

  The End of a Long Day