The Time Rip (26 page)

Jeremy considered the man for a moment. He knew genuine astonishment when he saw it. Martin was in no shape to come up with lies and he had no idea who Jeremy was.

Jeremy held out a hand and Martin wordlessly passed the phone to him. It spoke volumes for the state of Martin’s mind that he didn’t say a word as Jeremy flicked through the address book before switching the phone off and deftly dismantling it. He put it back together, trying to hold back his exasperation, and passed it back to Martin. Someone had been telling lies, and it wasn’t Martin.

Martin’s face alone was enough to tell Jeremy that he had no idea what had happened to him, but this was the man obsessed with Freya to the point of chasing her through a market and holding her at knifepoint. Jeremy narrowed his eyes.

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you.”

“No kidding. Maybe that bang on the head is worse than I thought.”

“You need only remember one thing: Freya belongs to me and I do not take kindly to people coveting my possessions. You will stay away from her or you will have me to deal with.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Yes, very much so. You will not go near her again.” Jeremy reached out a hand to help Martin to his feet, adjusted his position slightly and, with the swiftness that helped earn him his current position, rendered him unconscious once more.

Catching Martin before he could fall to the ground, Jeremy pulled out his time device and flashed to a dark corner of the hospital car park in Reading, 2008. It was a judgement on the staff that Jeremy was able to take Martin into A & E, leave him on a couch in the waiting area and simply walk away without anyone batting an eyelid.

Jeremy woke early the following morning. After leaving Martin in the hospital, he had gone directly to Freya’s flat and then kicked his heels all night waiting for her to return home.

Now he stood in his back yard, coffee in hand, the morning sun already hot on his back. He ran over in his mind the events of the previous evening.

Freya running from him played over in his mind, creating a jarring note. Why would she run from him? If she had a time device, why had she not simply used it when he was crouched next to Martin, she had more than enough time to do so.

It didn’t make sense. Was it simply a reflex? Run until she realised what she was doing and then used the device to leave.

He found himself re-tracing their steps from the night before. Walking around the house, he wandered over to where he had stopped the previous evening. As his gaze tracked over the grass, he noticed it was flattened in an area along the back garden wall as though someone had lain there for a time.

Was it possible? Had she simply been lying down here when he had thought she had vanished with a device? He hadn’t actually seen her disappear. He had simply come around the corner of the house and assumed that was what had happened.

Good lord, he must have been standing only yards from where she had been lying. He shook his head slightly in disbelief that she could have got away with such a strategy, and looked around, almost as if expecting to see her hiding nearby.

What did it mean though? Did Martin have a device on him all along? Had Jeremy, in his arrogance, left Martin with a time device in his pocket when he had taken the man to the A & E?

No. Impossible. Martin had genuinely not known what Jeremy was talking about. There was no doubt about that, which meant that Freya could possibly still be here somewhere.

Who would have put her up here, Joe? No. He could not credit it and furthermore, there must have been a time device involved somewhere along the line. There was no way that Freya could have dragged Martin through the field, bound and unconscious. Unless…

Was there a time rip right here in front of the house? If so, how close to the rip had Martin been when Freya had left him at the field edge. Was that why she had hidden next to his house? Had she been waiting for him to leave with Martin so she could get back to the time rip without him seeing her? She must have known she could not outrun him, and she would need to stay close to know when he left.

Jeremy walked back to where Martin had lain. He scanned the area carefully. If Freya
had
somehow managed to drag Martin through the field there would be evidence of their path. The grass was upright though, with no sign of flattening anywhere.

He walked carefully around every inch of the short grass near to where Martin had lain, looking carefully for signs indicating where a body might have been dragged. There was nothing, no indication whatsoever of such a thing, and the ground was too hard to have left much impression outside the long grasses.

He remembered the first night he had seen Freya, how she had walked away from him through the field. She had said she parked up just the other side, and at that time, he had assumed she meant a bike or trap, but what if she had been talking of her van.

Jeremy walked back around the house to the field edge. He walked carefully around the edge of the woods and field to the other side, found the road that he guessed she had parked on and flipped out his time device, flashing across to 2008.

The road was more or less unchanged and he could hear the din from the nearby motorway. It was wet and muddy and there were vehicle tracks, but anyone could have used this lane.

There was a break in the hedgerow and he could see his farmhouse was still standing on the other side of the field. He studied the long grass but there was no flattening here, no indication that a body had been dragged through the field. He stepped through the hedge to take a closer look. The grasses were wet and somewhat flattened in places, but it was impossible to tell if someone had walked through.

If anything, she would have been more likely to walk around the edge of the field. Here, as well as evidence of footfalls, he could see vehicle tracks in the mud, as though a quad bike had been there.

He followed the tracks around the field. They led behind the wood and eventually joined the road on the other side of the property. A sign indicated a public right of way, back where he had just walked.

He shook his head impatiently. He had not really expected to find a flattened path either here or in 1908. Freya was small, slight. Barely came up to his shoulder in her ridiculous heels. It was simply not possible for her to have dragged Martin, a tall heavy man, through a field. On top of all that, Martin had been unconscious at the time. A dead weight.

Even if there had been a time rip right next to where Martin was lying, Freya would still have had to get him there in this era.

Perhaps someone had helped her carry him this end, or perhaps she had not needed anyone. Maybe the rip in this era was in the road here and came out on the other side of the field in 1908, or perhaps he was a fool and Freya had her own time device all along.

He shrugged. Who knew what a time rip looked like anyway? It could be a tiny anomaly requiring you to step in exactly the right place in order to travel. This was the second unsuccessful search he had made and he was not going to spend all day looking for something that could be impossible to find without prior knowledge.

Freya would simply have to show him the whereabouts of the thing herself. If he was wrong, and she was still here somewhere, then he could console himself with the knowledge that she would probably come back to him if she found herself in trouble. She was nervous of him, but he had the feeling that she would trust him when it came down to it.

He judged her running from him to be reflex. It was a little tiresome, but she was young and obviously didn’t know how to handle the situations she found herself in.

He sighed as he flashed back to 1908 and headed for the house. If she had gone back to 2008, with or without a time device, she could look after herself for the time being. He would get on with his chores and read up on the conspiracy theories about time rips.

Chapter 8

Clutching two large takeaway cups, Janet followed Greg through a maze of corridors, rooms and floor levels, while trying to take note of the general layout of the building. When Greg had offered to meet her for a coffee after work, she had not expected to have to pick up the drinks and meet him at his office.

“How much further?” she asked in her best whiny voice.

Greg glanced back in appreciation, “Not far now, just gonna drop by the kitchen. I think there are some leftover doughnuts from Flyboy’s birthday.”

“Flyboy?”

“His name is James. He fell out a window on a job.” At Janet’s incredulous look he shrugged, “It was on the ground floor and he more or less tripped over the frame and measured his length. He flapped his arms a bit on the way.”

The kitchen was a dingy galley style affair with long grimy windows looking out onto the rainy London street. Two men were leaning over a clunky mobile phone on the kitchen top.

“Brannigan— ” Greg got no further with the introductions as one of the men turned and made zipping motions with his hand across his mouth, beamed and pointed a stubby finger towards the phone.

There was a small click from the mobile and Jeremy’s voice could be heard, “Sanders.”

One of the men leaned forward, “Good morning, sir. How are you today?”

“I am very well, thank you. To who am I speaking?” Jeremy sounded surprised, indicating that the call was unexpected.

“My name is Webb and I’m calling from Stockovers, the army surplus suppliers. This is a quick courtesy call to see if you received the package we sent you.”

Greg frowned at the exchange and took his coffee from Janet, placing it on the kitchen top, before turning to rummage in the fridge. He pulled out a large box of doughnuts, chose one, offered the box to Janet and then slung it open on the kitchen top.

“Package?” Jeremy sounded mystified.

“From a, uh, John Kitter.”

There was an ominous silence on the line for a few moments then, “Would that be Taylor or Brannigan?”

“Uh, sorry, sir, I have the name of John Kitter here.”

“Really? I think you may have delivered to the wrong address, in that case.”

Greg stood against the opposite wall, regarding his doughnut thoughtfully for a moment before taking a huge bite. Janet cast him a puzzled look and mouthed, “What’s going on?”

Greg just rolled his eyes and licked jam from his fingers. The two men crowded over the phone listening intently.

Jeremy continued, “What address do you have on your screen there?”

The man speaking cast a desperate look at his hapless colleague and then said, “Uh, I don’t have addresses here, sir, only names and phone numbers.”

“How inconvenient,” came the reply, “Perhaps you would like to send someone round to collect the parcel or better yet, why don’t I deliver it back to you? I’m sure I can spare the time. Tell me, would this afternoon be all right?”

“Are you sure it’s not for you, sir? We were given strict instructions, by this man John Kitter that the, uh, unpick-able cuffs were to be delivered today.” This was followed by a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a cough.

Janet glanced uncertainly between the men and Greg, who was shaking his head, sugar all down his front.

“That is Taylor, isn’t it? Did Brannigan put you up to this? He managed to get chocolate on the delivery note.” Jeremy’s tone was warm with laughter, “How are you both anyway?”

James Taylor rolled his eyes and gave in, “Yeah, sure. Weather’s lousy though. All this rain. Sheesh. I heard it makes cuffs easier to pick though.”

“How does one go about picking cuffs anyway?” Brannigan cut in, “I thought the idea was to cuff your quarry with both hands behind them. Is it a new way of doing things? Maybe you could show us since we seem to be a bit behind the times here.”