Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(59)

“Will it be fun?” she asked, unsure.

“I’ll make sure it is.”

“No beeping. I don’t like that.”

“I’ll see to it,” he confirmed with a grin.

Cynda rose and walked out onto the sand. Dropping onto her knees, she began to trace in it with an index finger.

He knelt beside her. “Do you like drawing in the sand?”

She nodded. “It doesn’t move. Maybe I can fix it.”

“The sand doesn’t move,” he murmured to himself, as if that were a revelation. “And it should, at least for you.”

“Why?”

“The sand seems to move for you because you’re a time sensitive, you feel it passing more acutely than the rest of us. Or at least you did.”

“Why?”

Morrisey looked chagrined. “It’s very hard to explain, especially with the way you are right now.”

He fetched the wooden stick. It was part of a pair he’d given her to eat the strange food that he said would help heal her brain.

“Maybe this will work better.”

Holding it in her hand, she began to draw. Nothing special at first, just lines. If something wasn’t right, she smoothed it over with the palm of her hand. Then she jammed the stick into the sand and began to scoop the white particles into big mounds. She could make anything she wanted and if it wasn’t right, she could do it again.

When she looked up, Morrisey was gone. Sitting on the platform was a teapot and a cup. She would stay and drink the tea until the sun went away. Maybe the dragons would crawl down from their perches and write notes to each other in the glowing letters on the box that beeped.

~??~??~??~



Ralph Hamilton glared at him from behind those round glasses of his. Morrisey prepared himself for the barrage: Fulham had already warned him that Miss Lassiter’s closest friend was not dealing well with her diagnosis.



“She refuses to talk to me. Is that your doing?” Hamilton demanded.

“No. It’s her decision.”

The man slumped a bit, as if he’d expected another answer. “She will be okay, won’t she? Like she used to be?”

“She’ll never be the same woman we knew.”

“She has to be,” Hamilton protested.

Morrisey gave him a sharp look. “Don’t assume that different is worse.”

“She was different enough to start with,” the man shot back.

“Yes, and now she’ll be different in a new way. Perhaps it will be to her advantage.”

“I hear you’re ignoring TPB’s psychiatrist and won’t let her take the ARD meds.”

“He is just following standard procedure, and we both know that Miss Lassiter is anything but off-the-rack. He is discounting the strongest element in our favor.”

“Which is?” his employee asked skeptically.

“Her inner fortitude. She’s not going to give in. That’s not her style.”

“What if she doesn’t find her way back from whatever happy place her brain went? What then?”

“I will ensure that she is in a safe environment, free of financial concerns for the remainder of her days.”

Hamilton shook his head. “Spending the rest of her life building sand castles?” he murmured. “That’s just not Cynda.”

Morrisey couldn’t help but smile. “Which is why, Mr. Hamilton, I still have hope.”





Chapter 19




Wednesday, 31 October, 1888

Old Bailey (Central Criminal Courts)

The chief inspector was next in the witness box. Keats bit the inside of his lip, drawing blood. This was going to be brutal.

“Chief Inspector Fisher, you are with Special Branch, is that not correct?” Arnett opened.

“Yes, I am.”

“And the prisoner is your subordinate?”

“Yes, Detective-Sergeant Keats has been with the Yard since January of last year.”

“How has he performed in his duties?”

“With excellence. He is one of my top men.”

Which wasn’t what you said a few days ago.

“In the early morning of the fourteenth of October you received a summons from Inspector Hulme. What did you do when you arrived at the Hallcox residence?”

“I spoke with Hulme, and at that point I assumed command of the investigation,” Fisher replied evenly.

“Is that usual procedure?”

“Not always.”

“What led you to that decision?”

“The sensitivity of the situation. If indeed Sergeant Keats were responsible for Miss Hallcox’s death, then it was paramount that the investigation be conducted as impartially as possible.”

“Why do you think you would be more impartial than Hulme?”

An excellent question. Keats leaned forward, curious to hear the response.

“At the time I felt it was the wisest move,” Fisher replied.

“And yet, Chief Inspector, you promptly altered department policy and summoned Dr. Reuben Bishop to the scene. Why?”

“Dr. Bishop has an excellent reputation, and I felt I wanted all avenues pursued in this case.”