I stared at the dead body for a long time. I wondered if Dirk Walls had plans tonight he was absent from. If so, no one had come to check on him.
From what I could tell, his assailant had surprised him opening the door to the bathroom and hit him hard. Dirk stumbled back through the curtain and landed in the bathtub.
Best guess anyway.
What he was hit with was the next question. There were no signs of trauma to his head or face, but red streaks marked his neck in a fern-like pattern.
Squatting near the edge of the tub, I tugged at the collar of his shirt and found more of the burns on his chest.
They looked electrical. Like the one on my arm.
I donned my sunglasses and hit record, capturing the scene and Dirk’s wounds.
I checked his pockets and found he hadn’t been robbed. Still had his wallet and phone.
The marks on him made me angry. Same weapon that I’d survived at the scene of Foster’s death, only Dirk didn’t have a chronometer to help absorb the shock.
Back in the den I pocketed my shades and stared at the dog in the crate. How long had it been in there?
The dog watched me with a doleful expression.
Fine. I could contaminate the scene a little more.
I closed the door to the den, opened the door to the back yard, then let the dog out of the crate. She immediately went to the interior door instead.
“I’m sorry. He’s not coming back.”
The dog looked at me and when I failed to open the door, she slumped to the floor and pressed her nose to the crack.
I sighed.
Encouraging the dog to go out had no effect so I gripped her collar and guided her to the back door. She finally got the message and went out to do her business.
She was a beautiful dog. Animal services would be called when they found the body but how soon would that be?
After squatting in the grass the dog got distracted, sniffing a pile of dirt near the garden shed. I whistled high and loud and that got her attention. She plodded over to me and obediently slunk back in her crate.
Dirk P. Walls still had a landline in the kitchen. I picked up the phone and pressed 911. When the dispatcher picked up, I left the receiver on the counter. Someone would check it out. They’d find him.
When I looked down, I noticed the dog had crept out of her crate and was watching me. Still doleful.
Okay fine.
The dog followed me out the way I came. I locked the back door behind us and walked out via the side yard. The white shepherd stayed on my heels. I glanced up and down the street. Saw a house on the corner with a tree fort built into the lower branches of an oak. Tire swing.
“Come on.”
The dog obeyed.
I rapped on the front door. A tall, thirtyish black man answered. Friendly face. Kids squealed in the background.
“Excuse me. Found this dog running loose out here. Is it yours?”
Before the man had a chance to answer, a small face appeared around the corner. Girl of perhaps seven, hair up in pink rubber bands. She rushed to the door. “Oh what a pretty dog!”
“Sasha, stay back now,” her father scolded. But the little girl was already squeezing past him. “That’s a stray dog, don’t touch it—”
“It has a collar. It’s nice!” The little girl extended a palm which was immediately licked by the dog for her efforts.
“That’s not our dog,” the dad said. “Looks familiar though.”
“One of your neighbors possibly?” I suggested. “Hate to take it to the pound only to find it’s supposed to be on this street all along.”
“The pound?” The little girl looked horrified. “Daddy, don’t let him take it to the pound!”
And the rest was easy.
Dad begrudgingly agreed to take the dog off my hands.
“This is just till we find the owner,” he insisted to his daughter as I walked away. But she already had her arms wrapped around the dog’s neck, and its tail had begun to wag.
I walked back to the Boss and climbed in.
Waldo remained uncharacteristically quiet. No Kavinsky or Daft Punk emanated from the speakers when I started the car.
“You trying to unravel this puzzle too?” I asked the car’s interior as I wound my way home.
“You’re the detective. I assumed you had it solved already.”
“Thanks for saving my ass tonight. Don’t happen to have any video of that truck trying to ram us do you?”
“Only default video functions were enabled. The collision was not recorded.”
“Keep an eye on the local news for me. I’d like to know if they fish anyone out of the bay with Dirk’s truck. Something tells me they aren’t going to find a body.””
“The accident would have been difficult to survive.”
“Call it a hunch. Whoever was driving, it wasn’t Dirk Walls.”
When I got back to my apartment, I pulled into the garage and assessed the damage to the Boss. The impact to the rear fender was unsightly and had cost me a taillight, but I’d been lucky. Thanks to Waldo, I hadn’t been T-boned.
I plugged the car in and started a complete system diagnostic check on the time travel subsystems. Then I went to bed.
My neck was sore in the morning.
When I got out of bed, I stretched and shuffled out to the kitchen to load the blender. My protein fruit smoothie got me moving a little faster.
Hawk followed me down the stairs at an unhurried pace. He waited for me to open the garage and rubbed his cheek against the Boss’s front bumper like it was his only goal in life. I confirmed that all of the Boss’s subsystems were operational and set to work fixing the taillight. Hawk jumped onto the car, walked over it and planted himself on the trunk to supervise. I replaced the taillight bulbs but had to settle for red tape for a lens. The body work would have to wait too. I had people to see.
Back upstairs, I made myself a cup of coffee and assessed my plan of attack.
I was nearing forty-eight hours of linear time on this case with no straight line to Foster’s killer.
Maybe I was slipping.
My forearm itched. I pushed up my sleeve and studied the burn mark. Found some burn cream and applied it. The pattern on my skin glistened.
It gave me pause.
I located my phone and took a photo of the burn on my arm. Then I extracted a still shot from the video I took of Dirk’s body. I added both to a text message. I found the contact name in my list. Eon Whitaker. He was a trusted confidant and a veteran of some wars mankind hadn’t even dreamt up in my time. If anyone knew the answer, he would.
>>> What kind of weapon leaves this mark?
The phone synced to the tachyon pulse transmitter in my jump room and I hit send.
Despite the TPT having to relay the message to the future, the reply came back immediately.
<<< Did you see it fired?
I typed back. >>> No Blast. Invisible.
Again the reply was immediate. <<< Phantom pulse cannon. Custom tech. Don’t mess with it.
I typed a last question. >>> Who sells?
When the answer came, I wasn’t surprised. And I had my next destination.