Cause and effect rosemar.., p.1
CAUSE & EFFECT (ROSEMARY COOPER TIME TRAVEL MYSTERY), page 1
CAUSE & EFFECT
A Rosemary Cooper Time Travel Mystery
By
M. A. LACHINE
CAUSE & EFFECT
A Rosemary Cooper Time Travel Novel
Copyright © 2008 by Margaret Lachine
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
In Memory of
John (Jack) Maybee
Whatever is has already been
And what will be has been before
Ecclesiastes 3:16
FOREWORD
On June 10, 1942, German submarine U-553, under command of Kapitänleutnant Karl Thurmann, after scouring the eastern coastline of the United States for convoys shipping out of Boston to Halifax, changed course for the calmer International Canadian waters of the Saint Lawrence River in order to repair a faulty engine.
At the start of World War II, in 1939 the Germans were well aware, due to the depression; Canada did not have the resources to take on the Third Reich. The Royal Canadian Navy (RCN) had less than ten destroyers and 2,000 troops. On top of that, as in the Great War, the RCN’s mission of protecting Great Britain and Allied convoys further depleted its resources.
On that fateful night in June, U-553 entered the Saint Lawrence and in the dead of night torpedoed the Dutch freighter, Nicoya. A few hours later, a second Dutch freighter, Leto met the same fate, bringing the war to less than 600 km from Quebec City.
The Battle of Saint Lawrence had begun.
With one minesweeper, two motor launches, and an armed yacht the RCN patrolled the 575 km long, 110 km wide Saint Lawrence water route between Sept-Îles and the Gaspé coast, it was little wonder that the Germans took advantage. Due to the importance of the port of Halifax, from which convoys and troops were deployed, U-boats roamed the waters off Newfoundland and Nova Scotia with little interference.
By November 1942, eighteen ships were sunk, with only one German submarine destroyed. Still the Saint Lawrence was considered a secondary front by Germans and Allies alike. Regardless, with the U-boats so close to the coast, residents on both sides of the river believed German attack was imminent. Reported sightings of submarines infiltrating the river thrived. Rumors ran rampant of German spies roaming the streets. Border citizens feared being attacked with little to no support from their governments.
Long after the war it was learned that the Sonar used to detect submarines in the ocean did not function properly in the fresh water of the Saint Lawrence River. If this fact had been known at the time there is little doubt the Germans would have used this knowledge to their advantage, perhaps bringing the war to both the American and the Canadian shore.
As it was, the Germans maintained their view of the Saint Lawrence as a secondary front and had no plan to attack ships in the Saint Lawrence. The U-boats that entered the river had done so of their own accord or by accident in the same manner as Kapitänleutnant Thurmann had with U-553.
PROLOGUE
“You can get dressed now, Detective,” Dr. Phillips said, removing the last electrode from her head. “Come to my office when you’re ready.” He walked out of the room carrying her chart with him.
For a moment, Coop lay on the exam table unwilling to move. She didn’t know if she wanted to hear what the good doctor had to tell her. After all, her job depended on her sanity. No way would the force keep her if it turned out she was a nut case. With the strange things that had happened to her there was a good possibility that she, Detective Rosemary Cooper, had gone completely around the bend.
She might as well get the inevitable over with. Listen to the doctor’s diagnosis, see the sorrow in his eyes when he told her she had a brain tumor, or worse, that was causing her to know and see things before they happened—when she knew she wasn’t there, but felt she was. Now even her thoughts were sounding crazy. With a great sigh she slid off the exam table and dressed in a hurry. No sense in prolonging the agony. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door leading into the neurologist’s office.
“Please have a seat.”
She had wanted to be brave and stand like a good soldier—where had that come from? She had never been in the military—for the bad news, but her legs were shaking, threatening to topple her. She plopped into the chair in a less than ladylike manner. Thank God she had worn slacks.
“I hate to do this to you, but could you tell me again about the incident that brought you to me. I need to firm in my mind what I believe is happening to you?”
“Does that mean you don’t think I’m crazy?”
He smiled at her. “No Miss Cooper, I don’t think you’re crazy, far from it, but I need to clarify a few things for my own satisfaction.”
She let out the breath she didn’t know she held. He didn’t think she was a nut job. “Where would you like me to start, Doctor?”
“With the first incident you experienced after your surgery.”
Coop didn’t like remembering the brain surgery she had undergone or the reason leading up to it. She put it from her mind and concentrated on the first time she had gotten any inkling that something was wrong with her.
“As you know, my father was murdered. Two men were responsible for his death. Only one paid for their crime even though I knew who the second man was, but there was no evidence against him. I went to see him. When I returned home I knew he would come after me. I don’t know how, but I saw him come through my bathroom and into my room. We both had weapons, but the main struggle was hand to hand combat. When he was about to kill me, a fellow officer appeared and saved the day.”
“And that is what actually happened?”
“Yes.”
He wrote on her chart. “What happened next?”
“One night I was alone, I smelled gas. I knew my mother, who lives in Upper Manhattan, had put a teakettle on to boil, forgot it, and went to bed. The water boiled over extinguishing the flame. Then another time I was out taking a walk. I came across a car accident. When I investigated, I had some sort of flashback. I distinctly saw a metallic white 2000 Rav-4 run a stop sign and plow into the oncoming car. This flashback was so clear I was able to get the license number of the Rav-4. Later I arrest the driver.”
Dr. Phillips nodded. Then proceed to explain how the injury had somehow tapped into a part of her brain that caused her to experience a heightened sensitivity to what was happening around her. In other words, he believed she now possessed psychic abilities. If this was a permanent state or if the ability would decrease over time, he couldn’t say.
ONE
Coop stood beside her partner, Detective Clay Vance, surveying the crime scene of a bloody murder—
***
—and was standing in the predawn alley she and Vance had walked through only minutes before with the sun well on its way toward noon.
She had experienced psychic flashes before, whereby she had witnessed the crime under investigation taking place. She tried to shake herself free of the spell even as she felt the burn in her legs as she sprinted to the hanging fire escape. She started the long climb to the third floor landing leading into the apartment where the bludgeoned body of a woman laid in a pool of her own blood.
That wasn’t exactly true. Not yet anyway. Right now the woman lived, and Coop had no idea what would happen if she interfered with her fate. Or, even if seeing into the past would have any effect on the outcome. Still she had to try.
She climbed faster, cursing the hundred and forty–seven pounds that made her huff and puff with every step. When she reached the landing, she took a deep breath, drew her weapon, and hurled herself through the open window, toppling onto the kitchen floor.
The muffled scream came as she regained her feet. She bolted for what she knew to be the bedroom.
He was there, leaning over the woman, his fist drawn back ready to strike.
“Police,” Coop yelled.
In one swift motion his fist connected with the woman’s face. A knife appeared from nowhere. The perp deftly slit the woman’s throat. Blood gushed, soaking the bedding, dripping onto the floor.
Thinking the perp couldn’t hear or see her, Coop took a step forward.
Then everything happened with the speed of light.
The woman raised a feeble hand toward Coop, her eyes pleading.
The perp twirled, his black eyes gleaming with rage, his mouth twisted in such a way it contorted his features into those of a monster.
She raised her gun. “Drop it.”
The knife slashed through the sleeve of her jacket. Her gun fell to the floor—
***
—and Vance was asking her who in the hell she thought she was leaving him to deal with the scene alone.
“Not only did you disappear for half an hour, but now you’re dripping blood all over my crime scene.”
Confused, Coop put her hand up to trace the tear in her jacket. Her fingers came away sticky and red. She stared at them before gripping her arm to staunch the blood flow. “Sorry. You got an ID
He ignored her question. “Go talk to the super and stop bleeding all over the bloody place,” he yelled.
She stepped back through the bedroom door and practically stumbled over a nervous little man wringing his hands and sweating profusely. “You the super?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes ma’am. Bob Felt.” He wiped a hand on his pant leg before offering it to her. “I can’t believe this. Miz Brown never gave me no trouble. Not like some. She never had men in her apartment, and she always paid her rent on time.”
“Do you know her full name and if she had any close relatives?”
“Name’s May Brown. Like I said, I never seen no visitors so I don’t know about kinfolk. She worked at Macy’s.” He shook his head. “It’s always the good ones, ain’t it?”
“Seems that way,” Coop acknowledged. “Did you happen to see or hear anything unusual this morning?”
“No. It’s like I told the other officer, I had an early appointment with my dentist. I just got back a few minutes ago.”
So Vance already had the information he’d sent her to get. “Thanks. That’s all I need for now, but if you can think of anything else, here’s my card.”
“I can go now?”
She nodded and stepped back into the victim’s bedroom where Vance was snapping pictures of the scene.
“What are you doing back here?”
“The super didn’t have anything to add to the statement he gave you,” she answered sarcastically.
“If I were you, I’d watch my attitude. Especially around the guy who is wondering how a police issue weapon ends up beside the victim’s bed and you’re sporting an empty holster. You got an answer for that, Detective Cooper?”
Coop blinked to clear her mind as she automatically checked her empty holster. “Darn, the clasped is broken,” she said with a sigh of relief. “My gun must have fallen out when I bent over the bed,” she lied.
“Well now it’s evidence.” He held the baggie holding her gun up in front of her. “Now how about you tell me where you wandered off to for over half an hour.”
She thought fast. “I went to check out the alley. I must have snagged my arm on something.” What other explanation could there be? Certainly not one starting with, I sort of have this psychic ability. A queasy feeling settled in her stomach. Vance said she had disappeared for half an hour. Her jacket sleeve was torn. Her arm was bleeding. Her weapon wasn’t in her holster. She was going to be sick. She swallowed. Wouldn’t Vance love to add that to her repertoire of sins? “Give me back my gun.”
“Sorry, Detective. It’s evidence.” He held the gun up out of her reach.
Coop knew he was right. The gun could be held for evidence, but she didn’t think that was what Vance wanted. After all, as lead detective, it wouldn’t look too good for him that she had dropped her service revolver at the scene. “What are you? In the fifth grade?” she chided, turning her back to pull her phone from her pocket.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting the captain down here to do a field report,” she responded. Anytime a cop fired his or her weapon in the line of duty a field report was initiated. The same held true for any untoward incident involving an officer’s gun.
“What’s the matter? You can’t take a joke?” Vance threw the bag with the gun in it to her as she knew he would. “I’m outta here anyway. You stay and tell your sad tale to the crime scene crew. I’m sure they will love the part where you bled all over the place, and don’t forget about how you dropped your weapon practically on the corpse.”
Once Vance left she took three deep breaths and expelled them slowly before dialing her friend Mark Harris. “Mark, it happened again,” her words rushed out without giving him a chance to say hello. “Only this time it wasn’t all in my head.”
“Where are you, darlin’?”
“At a crime scene on 39th,” she responded with the address automatically. “Mark,” she sobbed. “Vance said I disappeared for half an hour. The perp cut me and I dropped my gun. Oh, God! What’s happening to me?”
“Is anyone with you?”
“No.”
“Stay on the line. I’m on my way. Now take a deep breath and tell me exactly what happened.”
She filled him in on reporting to the crime scene, seeing the woman’s body, finding herself in the alley, climbing the fire escape, finding the perp standing over the dying woman, and finally how the perp had attacked her, her gun falling from her hand. “Vance found my gun beside the victim’s bed. Mark, what’s going on?”
“Dr. Philips explained about your psychic ability, darlin’.”
That was true. Several months ago, a psychotic killer had kicked her in the head so many times she’d had to undergo extensive brain surgery. When she’d recovered and returned to her position on the force she’d experienced several episodes where she had known what had happened or was going to happen—before it happened. When she reported these episodes to her neurologist, Dr. Phillips, he’d assured her that when the head suffered a severe trauma, such as hers had, it caused damage to the brain. Since the brain doesn’t regenerate it tends to open new pathways to compensate for the damaged areas. In her case, he believed she had tapped into her sixth sense. Nothing to worry about, yet here she was doing just that, but this episode wasn’t like seeing what happened. It was being there, right in the middle of the action that took place hours before Vance and she had arrived at the scene.
“But, Mark, Vance said I was gone, really gone.”
***
Three hundred plus miles away, the early morning mist had all but obliterated the defused yellow vaporous glow of the long line of sentries along the main street of Hailey, New York from the dark night. They paid no mind to the slow moving shadow cast by the jet-black car creeping between their rows. The heavy moist air absorbed the purr of the well-tuned engine. All was quiet—dead quiet.
Behind the obscurity of tinted windows an equally dark figure scrutinized the street. His eyes came to rest on the corner diner adorned with a four-foot high coffee pot pouring steaming rich black brew into a thick lipped mug proclaiming its name—JAVA.
He drove on. Made a left turn onto Apex Road, climbed the steep hill to the winding driveway that would take him past the weathered portico to the secluded rear of the portly mansion. Quietly, he opened and closed the car door.
Only the high pitched mating call of lonesome crickets disturbed the July air.
With his duffel bag flung over his shoulder he walked up the back steps and inserted the key the property clerk had returned to him two days earlier, into the lock. The door clicked open. A smile crossed his lips. He knew she wouldn’t have change the lock just as he knew she waited for him.
For a moment he stood inside the cavernous kitchen, savoring past smells of huge turkeys cooking, and pumpkin pies cooling on the oversized plank table as sounds of laughter rang throughout the house. He remembered how Ethel, their housekeeper in later years had created culinary marvels that made a party at Hailey House more than a celebration. That was the way it had been for his seventeenth birthday. The smile he still felt on his lips turned to a snarl. That was before his loving mother started acting crazy and his father had walked out on them never to be seen or heard from again. Not that Troy blamed his father for taking off. Oh, no. The anger he directed toward his father was in leaving his son behind to cope with his mother’s insanity, and a town that turned against him the first chance it got. His eyes narrowed. That would change now.
Silently, without disturbing his mother who slept in the bedroom at the front of the house, he climbed the narrow winding back steps to his boyhood room. Troy Hailey had come home.
***
Barbara Dobbin opened JAVA promptly at six, regardless of the OPEN 24 HOURS painted boldly on the diner window. If it weren’t for the several men depending on her for their three squares a day she wouldn’t open until lunch or maybe even dinner. What was she thinking? It wasn’t as if Hailey offered an influx of diners for lunch or dinner. In fact, the opposite was true. Every day some business or the other closed up shop, and the families who ran them left the decaying town behind. Townsfolk blamed her in a way. Not to her face of course, but the hidden innuendo was always there. She shook her head. No sense getting into that, not now, not ever. What’s done is done. She couldn’t change any of it. But still, thoughts of leaving had crossed her mind more and more of late. If only the secret buried beneath the granite angel in the cemetery didn’t bind her to Hailey forever. She sighed and set about filling the coffeepots with an eye on the plate glass window, and the patrol car parked at the curb.
