Read The Cantor Dimension Online
Authors: Sharon Delarose
"He finally ran into a room with big windows where the records were kept, smashing his way out through a window and into the sunlight where he could activate a wormhole. He had the foresight to grab some blueprints as proof he was there. As you know, all of the courthouse records were destroyed in that fire."
Brody jumped up, excited. "The blueprints! I saw them! They were on the coffee table!"
"Where are they now?"
"The police have them I guess." Brody sat down and slumped back into his chair. "I didn't take them. He hadn't stamped them with the cube so I didn't think they were important. Shit. Now Max is in trouble over them. They said on the news that a set of blueprints connected Max to the bank robbery and now they're looking to arrest him. Why the hell didn't I take them? Now Max is in trouble because of me..."
"Hey Brody, stop that! None of this is your fault. If anyone's to blame it's Max himself. If the blueprints were important he should have stamped them. Right?"
"Yeah maybe. But I should have just taken
all
the damn papers out of his house instead of just picking through a few. Then none of this would have happened."
"You don't know that Brody. Maybe it would have happened anyway. Sometimes things happen in spite of what we do because they're supposed to happen. Besides, you're forgetting the main thing here: Max is still missing."
"Yeah! And that's the one question you haven't answered," Brody paused. He studied Cindy's jubilant face. She was obviously taken in by all this time travel stuff. "Where is Max now?"
Her face fell. "I don't know. He's obviously in another place or time. That's why the police won't be able to find him. I don't know about the bank part. Brody, do you think he did it? Do you think Max robbed that bank? We still don't know how he makes his money. Maybe he used his new toy to get rich. How could you not be tempted?"
It was Brody's turn to frown. His face looked weary and drawn and a sour expression marred his normally good looks. His chin drooped, making his face appear much longer than it was. The eyes of an old man peered out from Brody's young face. He lowered his eyes trying to shield them from Cindy's questioning gaze. They were brimming with tears.
"I don't know, Cindy. I don't know. I wish to hell I knew in my heart that he didn't but my heart's got too damn many questions."
Cindy took his hand. Softly she said, "I'm sorry, Brody."
Jimmy had been relieved to drop Ellen off and be on his way. This whole situation made him extremely nervous. He felt bad to have barged in on Mr. Phillips and he was convinced now more than ever that the problem lie with Ellen and not with he or Mr. Phillips, in spite of the weird photographs.
As much as he cared for Ellen he didn't want to get involved with any sort of funny business. He preferred his life to stay on an even keel. Ellen, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on adversity as could be seen by the motley assortment of "friends" she picked up. Perhaps it was time to reconsider their relationship.
Ellen's thoughts were running along similar lines as she curled up in her tattered brown arm chair thinking about her relationship with Jimmy. She'd always been able to count on Jimmy no matter what else was going on in her life. Reliable, trustworthy, good-hearted, thoughtful, and fun to be with... perhaps it was time to prod the relationship to its next logical step with an eye toward marriage. Ellen smiled, envisioning herself in a beaded white wedding dress arm in arm with Jimmy, handsome in a black and white tuxedo which would clearly emphasize his dark good looks.
A sudden shriek startled her. She leapt from the chair and ran toward the front door away from the insistent shrieking. "No, no, no! Wrong way!" her mind screamed as she ran back toward the bathroom. The shrieking grew louder as she burst through the bathroom door. On the bathroom counter lie the culprit - her alarm clock. According to the clock it was 6 a.m. Monday morning, time to get up for work.
Ellen frowned, shaking her head. This wasn't possible. Jimmy had just dropped her off a few minutes ago. By Ellen's estimation it should still be Sunday afternoon. The clock on the wall verified the time: 6 o'clock - but was it 6 a.m. or 6 p.m.? Sunday evening or Monday morning? She glanced out the window. It was dark outside. Ellen swore. "Damn! I hate wintertime! You can't even tell what time of day it is - it's dark out no matter what. Damn!" She checked the internet. It was Monday morning.
Ellen put on a fresh pot of coffee. She hated when this happened. Ever since she was a little girl time had a habit of getting away from her. She'd never told anyone, especially her mother, who had terrified her with threats to send her off to the fate of great-aunt Martha if she didn't toe the line. Even Jimmy didn't know about these lapses in time, not that it made any difference. Jimmy was so understanding that he'd probably just give her a big hug and tell her not to worry.
Ellen finished her coffee and got ready for work. Her job as a receptionist for Hall's Decorating Company had seen her through nearly ten years of ups and downs. It was the only thing that had remained stable in her life. Just as she was about to head out to her car there was a loud knock on the door. Who'd be bothering her this early in the morning? Puzzled, she answered it. "Hey Ellen, ready to go?" An attractive middle-aged woman in a bright red coat smiled a friendly greeting.
"Excuse me?"
"Are you ready to go?"
"Go where?"
"To work, silly!" The woman laughed, her eyes twinkling. She fingered the pin on her lapel - three silver bells under a red and green ribbon jingled. "See my latest? Pretty nifty, huh?"
Ellen remained silent. The woman eyed Ellen thoughtfully. As if reaching a decision she picked up Ellen's purse and coat, then brusquely steered Ellen expertly out the door locking it behind them, then down the stairs and into her car.
"You've got those Monday morning doldrums again, I see. Come on, sweetie, let's go before we're late."
Ellen was perplexed. "But..."
"You've got to lay off the bubbly on Sunday nights, sweetie. We've been this route before. In case you'd forgotten your car is in the shop and even if it weren't, by the looks of those snowy white lumps in the parking lot it'd take you a half hour to dig out and warm up... so hop in!"
Ellen got into the car with an odd feeling that this had happened before. That was another thing she hadn't shared with Jimmy, these occasional bouts of strangeness. She studied the woman out of the corner of her eye as they drove down Route 250 toward the city. The woman sensed her observation and smiled.
"A couple cups of coffee and a cinnamon bun smothered with thick, gooey icing and you'll be alright," the woman promised. "You really should consider taking it easy on Sunday nights for a change, though. You're a sweet kid, Ellen, but Mr. Hall isn't going to coddle you forever. He can't afford to."
Ellen stared blankly out the window, shutting her mind away from the unwanted information she was receiving, switching instead to thoughts of Pat. Ellen wasn't the only person that morning with her mind on Pat Phillips.
Sitting at his desk, Detective Gorman drummed his fingers and frowned in deep concentration. So many questions - so few answers. He had run a routine check on Pat Phillips. There were several Pat Phillips in the Rochester area but none of them matched the birth date he'd been given. He hadn't expected them to. He had put out an APB on the Volkswagen with no results. The car was a sticky spot in his theory. Why would they describe such an unusual car for a girl who obviously didn't exist? It would have made more sense to pick a common car, something you'd find in every parking lot, unless of course they had an impostor lined up to play the part of Pat Phillips such as the girl in the photographs. Ah, now that made sense. He leaned back in his chair, an inner smile smoothing his normally harsh features. Their plan was impressive and it might have even worked if Mr. Phillips hadn't had the foresight to call the police while their scam was still in its early stages.
Detective Gorman ran a check on Ellen and Jimmy. Their records were clean. He decided to follow through on Ellen's claim that she'd grown up with Pat. That meant they'd probably gone to school together. He made a note to check on that. "School records," he scribbled on his notepad.
He emailed scans of the photographs of Pat as a child and as an adult to the main computer lab. If there were a missing girl anywhere in the United States that matched the photographs, the NCIC computer would know it. Maybe Ellen and Jimmy had picked up a hitchhiker and killed her. He doubted that were the case or they wouldn't have been so free with the photographs. Still, he'd wanted to be sure and cover all the angles.
He sent the original photographs to the lab to check for authenticity. He frowned. Maybe he'd better run a check on Mr. Phillips and his wife. You never knew with people sometimes. Maybe Mr. Phillips
did
have a daughter, an illegitimate one, who had just now come forward to claim her birthright. Maybe Mr. Phillips had murdered Pat when she threatened to go public as his daughter. These things did happen. It was a strange world out there. What had Ellen said Pat's mother's name was? He thumbed through his notes. Ah yes, Norma. He added another note to his list, "Check high school records: Fred Phillips, Norma."
He sat back in his chair to reflect on the different people involved in the case. In his eyes they were all suspects. He smiled. He was looking forward to cracking this case wide open. Criminals always thought they'd covered their tracks completely and planned their schemes flawlessly. Usually they were wrong. The main reason so many were still on the loose was that there just weren't enough cops to go after them all. There wasn't much more he could do until the lab results came back. The photographs were the key. He'd wait until he got the results before pulling Jimmy in for questioning.
The next morning a manila envelope was waiting on Detective Gorman's desk when he arrived at the precinct. The lab results for the Phillip's photographs! He tore at the envelope and pulled out the report. The photographs fell out onto his desk. He quickly scanned the report. The lab tests had shown conclusively that the photographs were genuine and that the child Pat and the adult Pat were one and the same. He raised an eyebrow. Mr. Phillips obviously had something to hide. A long-term affair most likely, which produced an illegitimate daughter, who was now missing.
It made sense. Since his wife Jeanne couldn't bear children he'd found a more fertile place to plant his seed, though Detective Gorman couldn't figure why he hadn't chosen a more attractive solution. Someone with Mr. Phillips' looks and money could have had his pick of women. Some people were hard to figure. Undoubtedly a man with Mr. Phillips' background and breeding would want someone to carry on his bloodline, however illegitimately, creating a potential scandal for himself and his wife. In his case, the scandal would be twofold for choosing so poorly. Pat probably wanted public acknowledgement from her father. Perhaps Mr. Phillips wanted the truth known, too. The only person who would want the skeleton to remain hidden away would be Jeanne Phillips, his wife. He moved her name to the top of the suspect list.
Detective Gorman sent one of the clerks to investigate Ellen's schoolmates as well as Mr. Phillips'. He leaned back and gazed at the ceiling, hands clasped behind his head. These cases could get sticky when one of the parties involved was wealthy. These rich bastards would stop at nothing to hide their indiscretions... or their crimes. Their fancy lawyers could cut a poor cop to ribbons on the witness stand making him look like a blundering idiot. He hoped it wouldn't come to that.
Two days later he had a copy of the school records in his hands. He was perplexed. He had called Ellen to verify that she and Pat had gone to school together. They had, but there was no Patricia Phillips listed in the school records. He'd even gotten a copy of the class pictures, none of which included a girl that resembled the photographs.
Mr. Phillips' school records proved equally useless. There had been no one named Norma at his high school and no matching photograph. Mr. Phillips had been married to Jeanne since his early twenties and she had borne no children. Detective Gorman's search for the Volkswagen had been fruitless as well. He decided it was time to question Jimmy. He was overwhelmed with theories but he had no solid leads. He'd reached a dead end unless... he studied the class pictures from Ellen's school. It was a long shot but did Ellen have any class pictures that included Pat? He called her at work.
"Ellen, this is Detective Gorman."
"Hi, have you found anything?"
"No, not yet, but I'm working on it. I was wondering, do you have any class pictures or yearbooks that include Pat?"
"Yes! I'd forgotten! I don't keep them with my photo albums but yes, I'm sure I do."
"Could you dig them out for me? I'd like to come by and look at them. I could meet you at your apartment at 5:30."
Detective Gorman was anxious. He needed some sort of lead, something to prove that Pat existed.
"Sure. I'll have them ready only you better make it 6:30. By the time I get home and dig through the closet for them..."
Detective Gorman winced. He'd expected to be reclining at home with a hot toddy long before then. He hated working overtime especially around the holidays. "Okay, 6:30 it is."
At 6:30 on the dot Detective Gorman was sitting on Ellen's sofa mesmerized by the class pictures she'd handed him. They were absolutely identical to the ones he had on his desk except that Ellen's included Pat and his didn't.
"May I take these?" he asked quietly.
"Well, okay, but I will get all my pictures back, right?"
"Yes, of course. Thank you, Miss Beamon."
It just didn't make sense. So far, the only concrete proof he had of Pat's existence were Ellen's photographs '96 photographs which had an uncanny "rightness" to them. It was time to question Jimmy.