Time Chase

By Denis Leeman

Time travel is a subject that fascinates us all, we’ve all had some experience of it in one way or another throughout our lives, be it only in our dreams; but what about the real thing, how many of us have been fortunate enough, or unfortunate enough, to have experienced that? None you might say with a chuckle; but you may be wrong, many people have claimed to have passed through the barrier of time and in many varied ways; some claim abduction by aliens, others say they crossed time involving strange encounters with spirits, or in places of powerful spiritual influence such as old churches or temples. However, very few claim the simplest, logical and the most likely way one may be transported, ‘ourselves'.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Denis Leeman
• Release date: Jan 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311198044

Book preview

Prelude

Christmas 1818

The high-pitched voices of children singing carols outside in the snow could be heard, accompanied by the continuous clatter of horses’ hooves on the stone setts that made up the road passing the front door of 5 Blackmill Square, the home of Doctor Robert Lomax, ‘surgeon renown’.

The doctor was a tall, swarthy, athletically built man in his early forties, with dark hair and handsome aristocratic features. He paused for a moment, listening to the sound of the festivities outside above his cellar workplace. Stepping back, and wiping his hands on his soiled smock, he turned and peered through the small window; set high in the wall, it was at little more than pavement level outside. Then, seeing that the group of children standing around an elderly priest were singing before his door, he sighed, opened the window, and called out to the old man. On being noticed he smiled benevolently, wished them a merry Christmas, and passed the priest a half guinea for their collection. Then, only partially closing the window so as to still hear the singing, his expression returned to its usual sombrous state and he turned back to the task in hand, immediately becoming absorbed in deep concentration.

He was startled by an unusual sound from above, which seemed to come from outside the door. His servant having departed earlier, he was puzzled – perhaps she had returned for some reason, his workplace being always out of bounds? Putting down his tool, he went to the door to reprimand whoever had broken his rule of privacy; however, on opening it, he found no one there. Slowly closing the door, with a baffled expression he noticed a black feather fluttering down to the floor in front of him. His pulse quickened … and then he realised he had left the window open. It must have been blown in by a breeze, he reasoned. Returning to his task he shrugged it off. He was a man of science, after all; he didn’t believe in bad omens. His mind only accepted logical conclusions.

Picking up the scalpel, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at the young woman, gagged and strapped to the bench before him, her eyes wide with fear. No sound escaped her lips as he pushed the scalpel deep under her sternum, slowly cutting down to the pubic bone. Viewing her terrified eyes bulging in agony as she took her last breath, a smile of satisfaction crossed his face.

Later, the good doctor felt pleased with himself as he cleaned out all of the internal organs, including – all in one piece – the heart and lungs, which he required for his research. He disposed of the rest, together with the vast amount of congealing blood; this he plopped into a garden bucket for disposal down the street drains.

Chapter 1

Christmas 2010

Emma Riley felt on top of the world. She had the feeling that all young people get with their first taste of independence. She had just bought the lease to a new flat in a very nice part of suburban London and, together with her newly acquired degree in English Language, she had also acquired a position as a junior reporter with the local paper. Her life was just beginning. Her father, a solicitor in the little village near Lincoln where she had been brought up as an only child, objected to her independent move, as do all doting dads with beautiful young daughters, but her mum had more confidence in her little girl and encouraged the move.

Anyway, Emma was now established in her comfortable new flat, the front ground floor of a large Georgian house on Blackmill Square: number 5, to be precise. She was also looking forward to the start of her contract with the local newspaper, The Daily Star, which was scheduled to start early in the new year.

*

The first morning of her new engagement was spent mainly on introductions and familiarising herself with the running of the office in general, supervised by the managing editor, Ray Winterbottom, or Windy, as he was affectionately referred to behind his back by the staff, for reasons of flatulence. Emma soon appreciated this as the morning went on. He was a short plump man in his forties who never seemed to stand still, especially as deadline time approached; in fact, he’d been told on many occasions that he was a prime candidate for a cardiac arrest. However, he seemed to have taken to Emma as soon as she walked into the office – still, what man wouldn’t? She was a stunner: in her early twenties, just above average height with her medium-length fair hair tied back and the figure of a model. All of the men in the office were affected when she walked in.

*

Returning from her allotted fifteen-minute lunch break in the local pea and pie shop, Windy called out to her from his desk at the far end of the large communal office: ‘Over here Emma, my dear girl. Your moment of glory has arrived – your first assignment,’ he grinned, waving her towards him.

Controlling a slight belch caused by her consumption of thick stodgy pastry and over-boiled mushy peas, Emma hurried over to his desk, her pulse quickening with excitement at now being a real newspaper reporter.

‘Now then, Emma, your first job! It’s not anything dramatic like a murder or a robbery, but it is still of the highest importance. It concerns one of this district’s most important men, Councillor Benjamin Taylor.’ Then, nodding at a tall fleshy young woman in her mid-twenties who was standing nearby, he said, ‘Jenny will be with you on this first job so you can’t go wrong. She’s one of our best reporters for this type of story.’

Emma was beginning to feel a little apprehensive; the job must be of some importance, she thought, if it needs two reporters, and at the thought of it concerning a high-ranking council officer, her pride swelled.

Windy beckoned Jenny over, and Emma asked, in a business-like tone ‘Would you mind telling me what it is concerning Councillor Benjamin Taylor that I am to report, Mr Winterbottom?’

‘Huh? Didn’t I say, ducky? It’s his funeral; he dropped dead stuffing himself at a banquet in the town hall last Wednesday evening. Always was a greedy bugger, fat old Ben …’ he smiled, shaking his head in reminiscence.

Just then Jenny came over, smiling. ‘Hi there, Emma isn’t it?’ She offered her hand. ‘I’m Jenny Morton. Ray says we’re partners on the funeral story today. The internment is at two thirty, are you ready?’

As they were leaving they were both nearly knocked over as the main door bust open and a young guy, around thirty and carrying a netbook in a black case, came charging in. Emma, walking ahead of her colleague, staggered and fell forward in response to the man’s haste. He caught her, apologising profusely as she continued to chastise him. Then, looking up, their eyes met and she was abruptly silenced; they stared, transfixed, into each other’s faces. He was a well-built athletic man, around six feet tall, good looking in a masculine way with a short, military-style, no-nonsense haircut.

Emma’s pulse quickened; she obviously impressed – as was he; he forgot to release her from his arms, and continued to stare into her upturned face.

‘Well, aren’t you going to put her down, Steve?’ Jenny called out in her deep contralto voice, breaking the spell.

‘Yes, so sorry,’ he said, releasing her and nearly dropping his net book. ‘Hope you’re okay, love.’ He looked kindly into Emma’s stunned gaze, and she simply nodded as Jenny dragged her away, still grumbling at him.

‘Nice start for you on your first day, that.’ Jenny was still grumbling as they got into the car. ‘That clumsy bugger nearly smashed the bloody door in your face! You want to report him for negligence, he thinks he owns the bloody place.’

‘It was an accident, Jenny. Who is he anyway? He’s gorgeous looking, isn’t he? Did you see his beautiful blue eyes?’

‘Huh, I don’t know about his eyes, but I’d like to kick his arse,’ she replied. ‘He can be an arrogant sod, can that one.’ She gave Emma a quick sideways glance as she drove out of the car park.

‘Is he one of the bosses?’

‘Thinks he is, sometimes,’ Jenny replied, ‘but no, he’s the house crime reporter. He was in the police for several years, CID officer he told us, before he took a journalism course and got a job on the paper. I must admit though, he’s good at the job – and the bugger knows it,’ she added scornfully.

*

Emma’s first attempt at journalism went well, and Jenny – as no doubt instructed by Windy – offered only professional advice, taking no part in the actual reporting of the occasion.

Back at the office, Emma had finished her write up and was preparing it for the attention of Windy when she sensed a presence behind her. Turning in her seat, she looked up to see the handsome smiling face of Steve Logan looking down at her. ‘Hope you didn’t miss anything,’ he grinned.

She gulped, feeling her face flush. ‘Yes thanks, err … everything went fine.’

‘Good. So you gave old Ben a good send-off, eh? Anyway, you look all in after your first job. How about letting me take you out for a meal to celebrate?’

‘You’re a fast worker’ Emma said, giving him a quick glance. ‘I don’t even know your name yet,’ she lied, not wanting him to know that she and Jenny had been discussing him.

‘I thought our Jenny would have already told you, and also that I was the Star’s ace reporter,’ he laughed. ‘Anyway, I heard her call you Emma when you bumped into me in the doorway.’

‘You cheeky sod! It was you that wasn’t looking where you were going, you nearly flattened me!’ she giggled.

‘OK, OK.’ Laughing, he raised his palms. ‘I accept the blame. So, what about letting me make it up to you with a nice meal at the Red Bull this evening? They do a good menu and it’s a four star hotel.’

Emma still thought he was a bit pushy and too full of himself, and was on the verge of telling him so, and to bugger off, but apart from that he seemed a nice sort of a bloke, and there was no denying that he was good looking. So, after playing hard to get for a while she agreed, and by the end of the evening she was impressed with both the meal and the man. Steve turned out to be a very pleasant guy and they shared many interests, including working out in the gym and martial arts. What’s more, on taking her home, he didn’t push to be invited in. But on going in alone, Emma wished that he had.

Chapter 2

The house was divided into three self-contained flats, the front door being solely for the use of the front ground-floor flat, tenanted by Emma; the other two flats, one at the back ground-floor level and one above on the second floor, both used the back door. Going in, Emma immediately felt uneasy; then, on going into her living room, she gasped. Cushions had been thrown off the settee, drawers were wide open, the contents thrown on the carpet, and clothes, ornaments and cutlery were scattered around the room. It was a mess. However, no real damage appeared to have been done, it just looked to have been vandalised. But how did they get in? Both the main front door and the one to the flat itself were sturdily locked. Looking around, she felt chilled; this couldn’t have happened on its own: somebody – or something – must have been in the flat to do it. Beginning to panic, she wished she’d invited Steve in for a coffee. Then she remembered he’d given her his card with his mobile number on. Shaking with fear, and having no family or friends within a hundred miles, she frantically dialled his number.

Within no time there was an urgent banging on the front door; seeing the look of terror on Emma’s face as she opened it, Steve hurriedly stepped inside and flung his arms around her, pulling her to him. ‘Good God love, what’s happened? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost!’

‘No I didn’t see any ghost, Steve,’ she moaned, still clinging to him as they went into her flat, ‘but I think that’s the only explanation for what’s happened here tonight.’ They both looked at the turmoil.

‘This is unbelievable,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘This looks more like the work of vandals than burglars. Have you noticed anything missing?’

‘No it doesn’t look like it. Look, there’s my new netbook over there on the floor, and the TV is still there. Who could have done it, Steve? I assure you, all the doors were locked when I came in just now.’

‘Well, some bugger has been in here, love,’ he muttered, scowling. ‘You haven’t touched anything since you came in have you, Emma?’ He pulled out his mobile.

‘Well, I did start to pick the settee cushions up before I panicked and rang you,’ she replied sheepishly. ‘Why, what are you going to do?’ she asked, noticing him dialling.

‘I’m ringing a mate of mine in CID. As I said, some bugger must have gained entry somehow, and if they’ve done it once through locked doors, most likely they’ll be able to do it again, and next time you might be in. I don’t want you to get hurt, love.’

*

Detective Inspector Jeff Bradshaw, a friend and ex-colleague of Steve’s, arrived within twenty minutes, accompanied by a uniformed constable and a man from their forensics department. No obvious clues were found, and the result of the fingerprint search was promised as soon as possible.

However, after discussing the event in the office the following morning Emma was shocked to be told by a grinning Windy that this was to be her first scoop, and he expected it on his desk by that afternoon.

The article hit the press the following morning and the effect was unbelievable; the district covered by the Star was absolutely buzzing with talk of haunted houses and ghosts, the thought of burglars never coming into it.

What’s more, Emma was the celebrity of the office. Even Steve Logan and his crime column were overshadowed, but he showed no malice, In fact, he even invited her for another meal at that posh hotel to celebrate.

*

Sitting at the same little table in the corner of the large, beautifully furnished dining room Emma couldn’t help but admire Steve’s handsome futures and deep blue eyes as he read the wine list; yes, she decided, even apart from his beautiful looks, he was some guy.

‘What are you staring at?’ He suddenly switched his gaze from the wine list and looked directly into her doting face.

Flushing, she replied with strained indifference: ‘Well, I was just wondering how much longer you were going to take choosing the wine.’

‘I see,’ he chuckled, ‘well, to be truthful love I don’t know one from another; I’m a beer man myself. What about you?’ He passed her the red leather-bound wine list.

‘I always have a mild white wine, whatever the occasion,’ she replied disregarding the elaborate wine list. ‘You order a pint of ale for yourself, if that’s what you want. After all, you’re paying for it,’ she laughed.

As they ate the conversation drifted back to the events of the previous night. Steve told her that forensics had found no trace of any fingerprints other than their own.

‘Well, I’m beginning to think like the rest of the population who read my article in the Star today,’ Emma said with nervous smile. ‘Ghosts don’t leave fingerprints.’

‘Well, I never came across any when I was on the force,’ he grinned, ‘but who knows? Things like that don’t just happen. But seriously, Emma, I’m beginning to feel a bit worried about you, there in that flat on your own with things like that happening. I’m not superstitious, but it is a bit uncanny.’

Wide-eyed, she said, ‘For God’s sake Steve, you’re making me frightened to go home! Do you really think it could be something supernatural?’

‘Not really,’ he shrugged, ‘but let’s not be conceited. We don’t know everything in this bloody universe, love, and only fools dismiss things they’re ignorant of. I always try to keep an open mind. You learn more that way, so my granddad always told me.’

‘Well, yes, I agree, but that doesn’t make me feel any safer. What if the house is haunted?’ she asked, almost in a whisper. ‘I think I’ll ask the other two tenants if they’ve seen anything,’ she went on quietly. ‘But then one of them has been here for forty-five years – surely if she’s seen any ghosts she’d have buggered off years ago!’ She forced a laugh.

*

Emma did make an effort to contact the other tenants the following evening: Miss Bottomley, a retired school teacher who had been resident there for over forty years, just laughed and denied any such experience. The other tenant, Trixie Lea, a young woman of similar age to Emma, occupied the flat above Emma’s. She’d had occupancy for just six months and, although rather startled by the question, she also denied any ghoulish encounters.

*

Several weeks passed, and with her keen determination and enthusiasm for the job Emma had gained the trust and respect of managing editor Ray Winterbottom. He promoted her to principal court reporter, a job in line professionally with her now ‘very good friend’ Steve Logan.

Easter was looming and Emma and Steve, having three days free, decided to take a trip to the coast. Steve arranged to pick Emma up at her flat on the Saturday morning at nine-thirty prompt; he kept his promise to the second. However, on arrival he found her distraught. She told him that she had been awakened in the night by tapping noises around her flat. She said she was scared, but ignored it, wishfully telling herself that it was just a draught in the passageway rattling the door. However, it had persisted at intervals until eventually she was so exasperated that she decided to investigate. Stealthily creeping to the door she unlocked it and swung it open, preparing to use her martial arts experience if confronted, but the hall outside her door was empty.

‘Good God, and you’re sure it wasn’t just the wind blowing under the front door, or something like that?’ enquired a stern-faced Steve, putting his arms around her and giving her a hug.

‘No, it was definitely a tapping by someone … or something.’ Emma looked up into his face with puzzled fear. Then, freeing herself from his arms she went over to an occasional table near the door. ‘But as I came back in from the hall,’ she said, coming back to him with something in her hand, ‘this fluttered down from the ceiling and landed at my feet.’

Taking the object from her tentatively, he stared at it, frowning. ‘But this is only a black feather,’ he said dismissively. ‘It looks like it came from the tail of a crow or some other large bird. Could have blown in through the window,’ he shrugged.

‘Steve, don’t you think I’ve thought of all the possibilities as to how it could have got in here? There were no open windows, and it appeared after I’d closed the door. What’s more, how do you explain it falling from the ceiling, as if coming from nothing?’

Shaking his head he replied ‘I can’t darling, but it must have come from somewhere.’ Then, he added, with a chuckle, ‘unless the bugger really did come from nowhere.’

‘Yes, and someone must have been tapping around my flat all night, but I couldn’t find the culprit so both must have come from nowhere,’ she retorted, with a touch of scorn.

‘Anyway love, you’re not hurt by any of this, that’s the main thing.’ He grasped her hand and stared into her face, smiling. ‘Get your things together and let’s make tracks – we should get down to Margate by lunch time if we step on it,’ he grinned. But his outward show of no concern masked his true feelings; he was beginning to fear for Emma and decided he would have to make some very unusual enquiries regarding the goings-on at 5 Blackmill Square.

*

The couple of days spent ‘relaxing’ by the sea were a waste of time from the start; Emma just couldn’t clear her mind of the strange happenings in the flat. She felt like leaving and finding another one, but this would be very difficult as she’d signed a three-year lease and paid a hefty deposit.

Sitting in the bar at the little hotel they were staying at Steve, trying to console her, said to forget it, he’d sort it out on their return; but in reality, he had no idea how to go about doing that.

Chapter 3

Returning from the failed therapeutic break Steve suggested that together they tried talking with the other tenants again, starting with the ex-school teacher Miss Bottomley. They wasted no time, making their move immediately upon their return.

‘Good evening, Miss Bottomley,’ smiled Emma as she was confronted with the tall stout figure who filled the doorway of her flat.

Miss Bottomley frowned, looking at the couple suspiciously.

‘Oh, it’s you again, Emma.’ She stared at Steve as she spoke. ‘Who’s this then, and what can I do for the pair of you? I’m busy watching Coronation Street.’

‘This is Steve Logan, a friend and colleague of mine. It’s about the strange goings-on in my flat. It happened again the other night and Steve is helping me to find the cause.’

‘Yes I’ve got a few ideas about what it could be, Miss Bottomley,’ Steve chipped in, ‘and I think that you, as a long-standing tenant here, might be able to enlighten me further with a few helpful facts.’

She looked at him thoughtfully for a few seconds. ‘You look like a copper to me, young man. Are you?’ she asked sharply.

Chuckling, he nodded. ‘Well, I suppose it never rubs off, Miss Bottomley. Yes, I was a Detective Inspector in the CID, but I changed career to become a crime reporter. I work at the Star with Emma.’

‘I see,’ she said, smiling for the first time. ‘Ex-police officer, eh? Well, you’d both better come in.’

Going through to the cosy lounge, Miss Bottomley ambled over and turned off the TV, gesturing to them to sit down as she herself took to a large armchair before the now silent TV set. ‘So, what can I do to help your enquiries, then?’

‘Well, as Emma said, it’s about the disturbances that have been happening in her flat, and which I’m trying to get to the bottom of Miss –.

‘For God’s sake, young man, my name is Amy; I only got Miss Bottomley when I was teaching.’

‘Fair enough – Amy – as I was saying, I’m trying to sort the disturbance out and I wondered if you could remember anything about any of the tenants who have occupied Emma’s flat in the past?’

‘Huh,’ she shrugged, glancing at Emma, ‘not much chance to find anything out about any of them. I don’t remember one of them staying as long as a year in that flat! I don’t know why, it’s the best one of the three.’

‘You mean to say nobody ever stayed more than a year?’

‘Well, one did, actually; when I first moved in there was a chap of about seventy in there, old Tom. Said he’d been living there for about five years and he loved the place. He died though, just after I got settled in; diabetic he was, poor old bugger. Fat as a pig,’ she said, shaking her head.

‘And you say none of the others stayed longer than a year, Amy?’ Emma asked. ‘But I was told the minimum lease has always been three years.’

‘Yes it has, that’s what puzzled me, I could never understand how they got away with leaving so suddenly.’ Then pausing, and staring into space, she said, ‘I’ve just remembered, there was one tenant that did stay his lease out, a young man called Terry. That would be back in the late eighties; good looking lad, fancied him myself, I did. Of course, I was a lot younger then,’ she smiled sheepishly.

‘Sounds as if he was happy in there, then,’ Steve said. ‘And he was the only one that stayed the lease out, eh?’

‘He was the only bloke that stayed there, full stop!’ she tittered. ‘No further temptation for me – all of the others were young women, every bloody one!’

‘Didn’t any of them ever say why they were leaving? ’

‘No, they just seemed to disappear overnight – here one day, gone the next. I’d just get around to noticing they were missing, then next thing I’d see a strange face in there. Nice smart young women they were, mainly, but I never got much chance to get acquainted.’

‘You must have seen a lot of people pass through here over the years then?’ Steve asked.

‘Yes, that’s true, but I was busy and ambitious and I suppose they were too, so there was never much time for getting to know each other. Mind you, the flat wasn’t always occupied.’

‘How do you mean?’ Steve asked.

‘Well, there was usually at least a week or so between one girl leaving and another moving in, but I remember it was once empty for about two years. Well, I say empty – somebody could be heard moving about quite often, but not living there.’

‘You mean, just going in to check it was okay, eh?’

‘Well, a bit more than that, I’d say. Sounded like someone moving things around, repairing things. Of course, someone could always be heard messing about like that after each of the tenants left,’ she shrugged.

‘Most likely the landlord making sure his property had been left in good order, especially if his tenant had done a moonlight runner,’ Steve laughed. ‘Did the landlord ever mention them breaking the lease, Amy?’

‘Never met any landlord in my forty odd years here. I got the place through White and Blenkinsopp, the estate agents on the high street. The property was a trust from the will of someone long dead with no benefactors, or so they told me when I