Chapter 9

“My conclusion is that we must obtain some item that can be shown to have been in the possession of the victim, and is now in the possession of burglar, who must have no known prior connection to the victim other than the crime itself. That would be sufficient to convict him.”

I grudgingly accepted her premise, but wondered, “How do we manage to get such an item, and how do we get it into the possession of the killer?”

“Two possibilities: one, burgle the house in advance, and pick up something she must have handled; or two, meet her prior to the event, and get her to handle something, possibly a document, and get her to hand it back. That will then have her fingerprints on it; and then we can get it into his possession.”

I furrowed my forehead as I pondered this conundrum. “Assuming you can produce this identifying item, how do you get it into his possession?”

Sandy admitted not having that answer to hand. “I don’t know yet. We need to find where we can secrete it without him knowing. Things I have come up with include: burgle his house and slip it into a hiding place, or he has a locker at a golf club or other sports venue or a gym, and we hide it there.”

“You imagine a burglar would have an easy-to-burgle home? Unlikely. It would take a fair bit of time to establish if he has a locker somewhere, I suspect. A thought, though: does he work somewhere that has staff lockers?”

“How would I know? I haven’t seen him yet, never mind identified him!”

“Sorry. That was a rhetorical question. So we have to attend the scene and follow him after he leaves?”

“Someone has to, anyway; a repugnant task, overall. Probably safer for a man to do, in the dark of the night. Get me an address and I can probably ID him in no time. I’ve learned to use many sources.”

“What about this incriminating item you mentioned?”

“I think I can go to the door and hand her a sheet of paper with the name of an Anastasia Popper and ask if it is her. It will say Mrs Anastasia Popper when she reads it, and as she is a Miss, she will say it is not her, so I will take it back and put it into the envelope, complete with her fingerprints. I will be wearing thin gloves so that only her prints will be on the paper.”

“How do you know that she is a Popper?”

“It was in the newspaper story, silly.”

“Oh, sorry. I had just glanced through it at the time; didn’t notice her name.”

“The paper just called her Miss A. Popper, so the A. could be anything. The address I will use will merely say Mrs Anastasia Popper, Gourock, Renfrewshire. I hope she isn’t actually an Anastasia! It was the most uncommon ‘A’ forename I could think of. And I doubt she is a Mrs.”

I queried, “What is your claimed background for approaching her?”

“That is simple: It is a prize draw, and the participant writes their contact details on the ticket. Some participants assume they will be easily identified by what they put down. They assume they are well enough known in their own small town or village ... some are, some aren’t.”

“Then you mustn’t talk about that, unless she asks you. I’ll bet she doesn’t enter such draws, so will know it is not her. Just say you were looking for this lady named Popper, and had noted that she fitted some of the offered details. The rationale for your visit may not come up at all.”

Having agreed on that, Sandy would ask her father to provide as much detail about the burglary as possible: time of break-in, which window, did the burglar leave by the same window or the front door? The police ought to have a reasonable idea of the entry and exit route. Was he seen at all and is there any description, however vague, such as male, tall or short, white man or black, bearded or clean-shaven? Did he use a motor car, or arrive on foot, bicycle, motorbike, or what? Did anyone in the vicinity hear anything around the time of the killing, such as a car stopping on the road? Was there a street light near the house and if so was it working? Some of these will be impossible to answer, as it was nighttime, but we can ask.

She knew this was not easy for her father, but he was well-known to the local police force as a solicitor, so they should be eager to assist him with known facts if they wanted him to offer some assistance. She submitted the list of questions and waited for the answers. Within a day she had them, and adjusted her concept accordingly. There was a lamp post nearby, but the light was rather diffuse and not good for facial recognition at a distance.

One passing motorist had seen a figure going towards the house, but the description was almost unusable: middling in height, not fat or very thin, wearing a coat and a cap of some kind; no vehicle had registered on the witness’s perception as being nearby. The witness had an impression of the figure moving easily, so either young and fit, or of an athletic physique. Only the timing was established with some accuracy, and Daddy passed that detail on to Sandy.

Between us, we worked out the settings for the time travel machine/portal/whatever, and checked that the batteries were fully charged. They were, as we had not used it much in several years except to check if the 2026 lab was still there and a quick trip to the National Library. We didn’t stay long enough to use up much battery power.

You see, in time-line terms we were returning to a short time after we last visited, not years later as in reality. I know: weird, but that was the way it worked. It might have been destroyed days later, but the machine always brought us to the moment after I or Sandy had left. There was no relationship between one’s starting point and the arrival setting on the machine. The only no-no was arriving twice at the same time. Once you were there, it was not possible to go then in future. It always had to be after you left.

Next, how to do the actual surveillance. Whoever went – presumably me – could not sit in a car, as the time machine could only move me and my immediate surroundings attached to me or in my pockets. That meant I could carry a camera or binoculars, but that was all.

Sandy exclaimed, “That camera we found in the 2026 laboratory! Remember, we used it to get pictures of the woman stealing the necklace? I found out, while I was playing with it, that the camera lens has variable focus, like a zoom lens for a camera of this time. I wonder if it can also work with low light levels such as a street lamp?” That set her off on a new exploration, locating the 2026 camera/whatever else it was in our locked room where the time machine equipment was located, and finding out all the things it could do.

It did all these things and more. I was amazed. At any rate, we now knew we could stand at a distance and manage to take pictures of the burglar coming and going. As long as there was some light source, even low level, the camera could cope, it seems, and give us a reasonable image. The nearby street lamp would do that lighting job for us.

Timing of the start of the operation at home mattered little, as when set for time and place the machine would deposit me before the event described by the witness. It could be daylight at home, but night where I arrived. I simply had to find a place in the darkness to be unobtrusive, wait and watch.

At Georgie’s suggestion, I took with me a small wood and canvas folding stool, so I could sit while waiting. She also produced a dark blue bobble hat for my head, which she had knitted to fit me last winter. It was one of these little signs of love that I liked, and was a colour suited to the night. Sandy reminded me to wear rubber-soled shoes so my walking about would make no noise. I wore a dark raincoat that would also help making me invisible in dim light. The machine functioned as perfectly as before, and I found myself standing on the pavement opposite the target house, a little way down the street from it. I sought a place to secrete myself, and found a gate between two hedges, with the gate set back a couple of feet into the hedge, or the hedge had expanded outwards over a period of years. Either way, it gave me a sort of alcove where I could sit and watch in relative security, unobserved. The gate would not be in use at this time of night.

And watch I did. It was dashed cold sitting there unmoving, while a draft blew round the hedge, straight over my back and down to my behind, despite my warm raincoat. I hoped the guy would hurry up and arrive before my balls froze solid. At last he appeared, walking briskly as if he knew exactly where he was going, but a bit stiff-legged, I thought. Presumably he did know what he was doing, but his preplanning had not allowed for her to be in the house. I suspected it was her night for some regular event but she had cried off due to rheumatics or a cold or some other ailment. I readied the camera, but at no point did I get a clear view of his face, so all I got were shots of him walking past. Confidently he walked round to the back of the house, and then I heard faintly the squeak of his pry bar working on the wood of the window frame.

Pry bar? It must have been held down his trouser leg, as it was not in sight when he walked up. That would explain the stiffness of his leg. It would take him some time to get in through the window, and after a time encounter Miss Popper, so I settled to wait; I could do no more. After something like ten minutes by my reckoning, he reappeared round the side of the house, in a great hurry to leave. His pry bar was missing, probably next to the opened window, but as he was clearly wearing gloves, it would be useless as evidence of the murderer’s identity as pry bars do not carry a number. He had obviously forgotten about his pry bar in his rush to get away, not that it mattered.

That sign of panic encouraged me, as he was unlikely to spot me tailing him. He would want to get to his abode as fast as possible. I checked my Timex wrist watch - a birthday present from my ladies – and noted the exact moment, in case I lost him and had to start again with the machine, but further down the road. I padded along behind him, keeping my distance but staying close to the hedges and boundary fences so as to blend in as part of the background.

He never looked back; probably assumed there would be no-one around at this late hour, and anyone who was actually outside would not note his silent passing. I was positive he was also wearing rubber soles on his footgear. He and I turned a corner, twice in ten minutes, and at last he stopped at a tenement block.

Curious word, tenement. I thought it meant a multistorey building, for the apartments within were known as tenement flats, but Sandy’s father explained that historically and legally, it was a measure, a stretch of ground designated as a tenement of land, so a tenement block actually meant a block built on a tenement. The passage of years had since changed the popular meaning as time went on. The law, however, stuck with the original definition as the law has to be exact in its meaning.

He entered the building, and after giving him time to go upstairs, I quietly entered and listened carefully. Despite his own rubber soles, he made other small noises as he ascended, either little grunts or knocking against something such as the handrail, so that I was able to track how many floors he had gone up. I stayed in the building’s vestibule area until I heard him open a front door and close it with a thud, indicating he lived there. I was pretty certain he was on the second top floor, and that should be enough to pinpoint who he was.

My estimate was that this was a burgh council building, so Daddy Thompson should be able to find out who rented flats on that floor. There seemed to be only two flats per floor, based on what existed at my floor level. I left then, and made my way back to my start point, unsure of how much time I had left before being yanked back to my present. It turned out I had plenty, for I stood and shivered in the cold night air for several minutes before the travel machine kicked in and returned me home. I bloody forgot the folding stool!

I was welcomed back by Georgina, who grabbed me and kissed me. “I always worry when you or Sandy go off into that device!” she declared, hugging me again. “I know it always worked before, but no machine is perfect.”

I pulled her off me and stared her in the face to make a statement. “You never worry about the car breaking down, Georgie, do you? This special device was built in the future by a guy who was risking his own life. There is no way he wanted to have it fail on him, is there?”

“If you put it that way, I suppose not, my love. It doesn’t stop me worrying.”

“It is not as if we use it much, Georgie darling. Talking about darlings, where is Sandy? She was here when I left.”

“Oh, Phyllis wanted her help on the antiques market project. There was some dispute about danger money: working at height to take down the shelving structure.”

“Odd. Wasn’t there a scissor-style machine that had a platform moving up and down for higher levels?”

“Yes, but it was valuable and the grocery company owned it so took it with them when they left.”

“Damn! We should have bought it off them before they finished. What is Sandy proposing to do?”

“It seems she is going to ask another warehouse to lend their own hoist for a day or two; hire it, if they want payment. Phyllis wants the work done smartish, and Sandy feels the same way.”

“Sounds like she has it in hand then.”

“Indeed. She said to tell you she would visit the ‘old lady’ tomorrow. It seems there is no real rush. It seems to be that way with your time machine.”

“Actually, it is not mine, but the man who built it is dead, and so we get to play with it. I hope your worry about failure doesn’t come to pass, as we have no idea how it works.”

“I know. It is simply my fear that I (and we) might lose you sometime when you are using it. Love does that; makes you scared of losing your loved one.”

To reassure her, I suggested,”What say we let Sandy do her stuff tomorrow, and you and I get our own property work done, and maybe we can meet for some lovemaking at lunchtime. We haven’t fucked on our own for some time; there always seems to be another girl with us.”

“Now that appeals to me,” she said with a pleased smile lighting up her face.

I leered at her with the suggestive comment, “You think Martha and George need another sibling?”

“Well, I never went into this with the idea of a single child, so why not? I love taking Martha with me on some of my visits to our other agencies, as she disarms the staff immediately, and I soon get to know exactly what has been going on. I did not expect to be using my daughter as a spy, but hey—it works.”

“Good grief!” I blurted out. “Just think: our daughter will be starting school next year sometime.” This was normal time making its presence felt as we got a little older.

Georgie smiled with a big grin, “And slowly all your other children will be starting school. You will be visiting the school regularly as their father, and the teachers will be wondering about parentage and such.”

I scoffed at the supposed problem. “As long as the kids are happy to greet me as Daddy, and show that they know they are loved, I will gladly defend myself against all comers. With so many divorces, some children will have one father and different mothers. Teachers take it all in their stride.”

“Good,” Georgie averred. “That is how I expect to see it happen. Us girls will be happy to tell the school that you are our children’s Daddy, and that we like the situation. It is not as if we are claiming you as a legal husband, just as a loving partner. An increasing number of men and women in the country are just partners with children, so we can point out that this is where we are. We are simply sharing our partner, as far as they are concerned. The husband part is for our personal use only.”

I kissed her admiringly. “Thanks, my love,” I said.

She responded, “Well, I love you, that is all. In fact, we all love you, for what you are to us. Quite simply, you are our darling husband.”

That merited another kiss and a hug as well. Mother of two of my children and an enthusiastic member of the McIntyre household, Georgie had fulfilled all her own desires and willingly let her younger sister be happy as the chief wife in our family. Sandy turned up a couple of hours later, tired but satisfied.

“All fixed up,” she told us. “The new lifter hire will be at the warehouse tomorrow, complete with operator, and we can get the rebuild of the units started. Phyllis will tell the men that their complaint was justified, so we have sorted it out. I feel it is always better to sort out a complaint rather than let it fester; business works better that way.”

God, how I love that woman!

Next day, I left Sandy to make her visit to the murder victim, a couple of days before the crime happened. My own day turned out to be very busy, with widely spaced properties to show to possible buyers, ranging from Inverkip to Port Glasgow. I was glad I had a file for each, so that I could skim it in advance and be prepared for any questions about the property. I made two probable sales, and would get my commission if they went through to completion. It made me wonder how I would cope if I had to take one of my kids to school, or collect them from school, for you have to be at the school at the exact time; no excuses. We would probably share the task among the family, with whoever was free to take the child or collect him or her. Parenthood is a lot more than just being nice to your kids; you have to do things for them.

With no more problems being experienced by any of my wives at the moment – and problems do turn up at inconvenient times, and childbirth is always a worry at any time - but the next day was a doddle. I had time to ask Daddy Thompson if he had friends in the Council offices, friends that could check registers and such and tell him who lived in these two flats. I had to explain that I thought the murderer lived there and I wanted to identify who lived on that floor for a process of elimination.

He took this as a challenge and said, “Leave it with me, and I’ll do my magic act, whipping out the names to you tomorrow and presenting them with a flourish.”

I chuckled at his schoolboy humour, and tried him farther, “If you can also say where they work and as what, that would be extra useful, sir.”

He blinked, thought a bit, then told me, “You’re on, young man.”

He was as good as his word, I knew. That night, Sandy gave me the story of her visit to the soon-to-be-murdered lady. “When she came to the door, she was not what I expected. She was tall and thin, very elderly but quite spry for her age, with sparkly eyes as she greeted me. I suspect she is alone most of the time, and enjoys visitors, so I spent more time with her than I intended.”

“But you did your job; the reason you were there, my love?”

She looked sadly at me as she replied, “Yes, I showed her the document, a sheet spelling out the terms of the draw and naming her somewhat vaguely as a winner like we agreed. She declared herself astonished, as she was a non-gambler like you, my darling, and said her first name was Adele, which she said meant ‘noble’. I congratulated her on her first name, and said I was not familiar with her surname either. She told me it was Jewish, but she was not a Jew, and supposed someone in her family was Jewish in the past. She asked about me, so I admitted to being married with one child, and a loving husband. She replied that she once had a man whom she loved, but he died in the war, the Great War. It was not great for her, she declared, as she had never found another man she wanted to love. She had been handling the document without thinking as she spoke, turning it over and over as she spoke, so I decided it had enough of her fingerprints on it, and asked for it back. We parted as a friends. I was saddened that she was going to die within a couple of days, but if we can find her killer and get him convicted, that would let her rest in peace. She had a long life, if not an intensely happy one. I decided I was very lucky to have you by my side.”