It's a Mystery . . .
824 words | By Me

In his dark, department-issued trench coat, Detective Sergeant Oliver Jennings tapped the grit-dusted toe of his dark, department-issued boot against a charred—something or other. Little more than the gutted frame of the small laboratory building remained, with fully three walls blown out from an explosion that had been heard for several miles around. He stooped and picked up a crisply cindered corner from a page of a book, the only marking being the burned edge.

“Not a lot to go on,” he murmured across to his associate.

In her equally dark, department-issued trench coat, Detective Sergeant Marcia Hollins looked to the bit of singed paper her partner was holding and had to agree. “Not even a table left standing,” she commented. “No gas leak.”

“No. Quite a blast. Most of it out that way.”

Hollins turned to the missing walls and nodded her agreement. “Shattered windows for blocks.”

“Uh-huh. Who’s that over there?”

“John Taylor, head of security for Sky-High Dynamics. He called it into us. Saw him outside when we arrived.”

“Have you spoken with him?”

She started toward the man, with Jennings stepping forward at her side. “Not yet. Mr. Taylor?” she called out to him.

“Sort of a bad deal all ’round,” Taylor greeted the team, his shoes crunching through the cinders. “I don’t suppose you’ve found anyone.”

“No,” Jennings replied. “In all this, I wouldn’t expect to find much of—anyone.”

“We’ll seal and bag the facility. Forensics’ll be giving the place a thorough sifting,” Hollins assured. “Mr. Taylor, when you called in you mentioned there was someone in this explosion. Are you sure of that?”

“Well...” Taylor looked at the clipboard he was holding. “Looks like Dr. Winchell had signed in last evening at 8:23, and he later signed Victoria in at 11:40. That’s his daughter. Explosion was about an hour later.”

Jennings reached into his coat and withdrew his dark, department-issued notebook, scribbling down the names and times.

“His daughter was here?” Hollins pursued.

“Yeah, early twenties. The Doc mentioned yesterday she was home visiting from her studies at Sheffield University over in the UK.”

“Mm-hm. Night visitations are a common practice here?” she asked, watching her partner write.

“Well, no, but Dr. Winchell is our own Nobel laureate, so...”

“He had leeway, then?”

He nodded his head. “For the Doc, oh yeah. Even in matters of corporate security. We have that in writing from Dr. Thorndyke himself if you need it. They worked like partners in the corporation.”

“We probably won’t need the verification. We’ll be speaking directly with Dr. Thorndyke in the morning. Any idea of what—the ‘Doc’—might’ve been working on here?”

“Um, no-o—well, that is to say, he told me it was a—a time machine.”

Jennings cleared his throat. “Time machine?”

“That’s what he said.” Taylor smiled and shook his head. “Look, I’m no egghead, just a tiny bachelor’s degree who happens to work here.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’m working toward my master’s, though, in security management.”

“I understand.” Hollins looked to her partner. “We can verify the project with Dr. Thorndyke tomorrow. As CEO he should have some inkling.” She again regarded the smoldering devastation. “I suppose time travel requires a lot of energy?” she ventured, watching the firefighters foam a complex power distribution frame in a corner of what remained of the small laboratory.

Taylor followed her attention. “I really wouldn’t know.”

“Well, it’s obvious he chose to go back in time,” Jennings commented with a light chuckle.

“Why’s that?” Hollins asked.

“Well, if he went forward, he’d be stuck in stasis and standing right in front of us.”

“Possibly—unless it was trans-dimensional,” she idly reasoned in reply.

“You mean a direction that would be considered at a right-angle to anything we could perceive? Up or down to a 2D-worlder? Yes, I suppose that’s an awkward theory. Also, an interesting way to get rid of someone…”

“Get rid of…” Taylor looked at Jennings. “You mean murder by explosion—or are you saying it really might have been a time machine? A real, working time machine…”

“Looks like forensics’ll have to decide that one,” he said. “If there’s no DNA found in the ash and debris, and the Doc and his daughter remain missing, then perhaps only time can tell what really happened here. …New investigative techniques, methods, tools…”

“Cold case?”

“That would be up to a review board, but we’re quite a-ways from there. Tell me, Mr. Taylor, was there any way a person could leave this lab without signing out?”

“Unlocking the door requires a log entry so—no way that security is aware of.”

“No windows, back door…?”

“No.”

“Ventilation system?”

“Closed-circuit.”

“Trapdoor to the rooftop? Maybe a basement?”

“No.”

“Whoof,” Hollins shook her head. “Doubt if it’ll catch on,” she commented, lightly kicking at a charred chunk of something or other. “Time travel sure makes a mess.”