Two Places

A man faces undeniable proof of his own life of crime...the only problem is he was never anywhere near the crime scenes!

            The most exciting day of Harry Corwin’s life started on a Friday morning with the knock on his door a little before nine. A quick check through the peephole showed a tired-looking, middle-aged man who didn’t seem to pose any threat, so Harry opened the door.

            “Can I help you?”

            The man looked at him for a moment, as if studying him carefully before answering. “Harry Corwin?”

            “Yes.”

            The man was holding a thick manila folder. Reaching into his coat pocket with his free hand, he pulled out a small black wallet and flipped it open, revealing a golden shield. “Mark Thompson, LAPD. May I talk to you for a few minutes?”

            Harry nodded and stepped aside. “Certainly. Please come in.”

            Mark studied him again briefly, which Harry found amusing. Harry wasn’t anything to look at really. Fifty-three, a little less than six feet tall, one hundred and sixty pounds, thinning black hair already generously sprinkled with white (he’d somehow skipped gray altogether and gone straight for snow white) and small glasses covering his hazel eyes. It would take a vivid imagination to find something threatening in him—but this was a wicked world, and Harry knew evil lurked in forms similar to his own.

            Harry shut the door and walked past his visitor, motioning him to follow. He led him into his study and motioned toward a chair across from the mahogany desk he slid behind. “My wife’s gone shopping, but I think she made some lemonade before she left, if you’d like.” When the detective didn’t answer, Harry tried to continue the conversation. “What can I do for you?”

            The detective’s eyes seemed to miss nothing in a quick scan of the room. Bookshelves lined the walls, all crammed full of books of various sizes and hues. Some were worn paperbacks, with newer hardback novels scattered throughout the collection, but Mark’s eyes rested on the same shelf most other visitor’s did. It was in the halfway point of the room and seemed the only order in the chaotic maelstrom of the study.

            “These yours?” He asked as he walked to the shelf for a closer look.

            Harry beamed. “They certainly are.”

            The detective’s finger glided along the spines of the books as he read the titles. “Martian Landscape…Double-Minded…Headhunters of Venus…Moments of Magic and Mystery…Midnight Martian Maneaters…”

            “That was my first best-seller. I’ve hit the New York Times best-seller list eleven times since then.”

            Mark stepped back and looked over the shelf. “How many are there?”

            “Twenty-two in all. I’ve averaged about one a year since I started writing, but I’ve slowed down a little lately.”

            Mark turned to him. “Oh? Running out of good ideas?”

            Harry laughed. “Oh no, not at all. My imagination works overtime. I’d be hard-pressed to write every story that flies through my head.” He patted the laptop computer on the desk in front of him. “As a matter of fact, I’m putting the finishing touches on my last book.”

            “You’re quitting?”

            “I’m just ready for a little break, that’s all. Believe it or not, writing really is hard work.”

            “I’ll bet. Still, with titles like…” he glanced at the shelf, “…Time Terror and The Roswell Rejects under your belt, you’ve got something to be proud of.”

            Harry nodded. “I am.”

            Mark settled into the small wingback chair across from the desk. “Not much of a Sci-fi guy myself, but I’ve heard you write some great stuff.”

            “Thank you.” While Harry never tired of discussing his books, he was starting to wonder what the true purpose of the visit could be. “If you came just to talk about my books, you didn’t have to flash the badge to get in. I’m always interested in talking to my readers.”

            The detective gave him a crooked grin. “I’m afraid I have a little more pressing business than just book talk.” He pulled a small recorder from his pocket and placed it on the desk. Hitting a button, he said, “Do you mind if I record this conversation?”

            Harry was a little surprised, but nodded his assent before realizing the detective was asking for verbal confirmation for the tape. “Certainly. I have nothing to hide.”

            “Thanks.” Mark opened the folder he’d been carrying. “Mister Corwin, where were you last night at around seven-thirty?”

            “Last night I was at the Book Megastore downtown doing a reading and book-signing. I was there from about seven to almost nine.”

            Mark nodded. “And last Sunday night…around six?”

            Harry thought for a moment. “Sunday night my wife and I went to dinner with several friends at Anore’s on seventeenth. From there we all stopped off for drinks at the piano bar a block down. We were out from about five until well after ten.”

            Another nod. “Monday two weeks ago, one in the afternoon?”

            Checking his calendar, Harry said, “Lunch with my agent to discuss my new book. We were at Rossi’s from twelve until two-thirty.”

            Mark sighed, as he read from the folder in his hands. “Wednesday, the third of this month, at four-thirty?”

            Another quick glance at his calendar, and Harry said, “I was out of state on the last leg of my book tour. At that moment I was about thirty-thousand feet up in jet on my way home from the tour. What’s all this about, Detective?”

            Mark looked up at him. “Mister Corwin, do you have a twin brother?”

            Harry was surprised by the question. “No, I’m an only child. Why do you ask?”

            “In the past three weeks, there have been a number of…odd crimes committed in the area.”

            “Odd crimes?”

            “Robberies, burglaries, incidents at a local pawn shop…other irregularities that don’t add up.”

            Harry was confused. “What does that have to do with me?”

            Detective Thompson pulled two printouts from the folder and put them on the desk in front of Harry. Both were grainy photographs that appeared to have been taken from surveillance cameras. One was a picture of a man inside what appeared to be Harry’s bank. The other was of a man facing a cashier behind the counter of a pawn or junk shop. Both pictures had one common element.

            Harry was the man in the both photographs.

            Harry said, “What…what is this?”

            “Eight different crimes, Mister Corwin.” As he spoke, Mark tossed four more printouts on the desk. Four more photos of Harry in various scenes. “And the perp was caught on camera in seven of the crime scenes.”

            As Harry leafed through the incriminating photos, he searched for words. “But I…”

            “Here’s my favorite one.” Mark chuckled as he looked at a final picture, then slid it to Harry. It was a close-up. Apparently, the robber had stood on a desk so the camera could get a good look at his face. There was no doubt that the man in the photograph smiling and waving at the camera was Harry himself.

            Harry studied all the photos carefully. “This is impossible. Why would someone do this?”

            Ignoring his question, the detective said, “Sir, do you know what ‘probable cause’ means?”

            “Of course.”

            Mark continued. “And do you know what it allows me to do?”

            Harry nodded. “There are certain liberties afforded an officer in that situation.”

            “Mind if I look around?”

            Harry said, “As I said before, detective, I have nothing to hide.”

             Mark nodded and stood. As he moved around the room, Harry shuffled through the pictures again. The similarity was frightening. Actually, it wasn’t similarity…it was a perfect image. The close-up shot removed all doubt. Even down to the tiny mole on his neck. But the more he thought about it, realization dawned on him.

            “Detective Thompson, if you have this undeniable proof of my guilt in your possession, why come here with probable cause only? Why not come with a warrant for my arrest and a squadron of officers to take me away?”
            Opening the closet door and peering in, the detective laughed. “Usually, we don’t send a ‘squadron of officers’ to arrest someone like yourself. A few men in the front, a couple in the back, and we’re pretty much set.” As he slipped inside the closet, he said, “Hey, what’s this?”
            Harry got up, walked to the closet and looked in. “What?”

            Mark pointed at a small numeric keypad on one of the walls. The digital readout above it displayed the date and time.

            Harry said, “That’s my alarm system.”

            “Inside your closet?”

            “Well, I spend the vast majority of my time at my desk…which is only a few feet away. If someone tries to break in, I can hide in my closet and have the police here in minutes.”
            “And your wife?”

            “Oh, she has something similar in our bedroom upstairs.” Tapping the door, he said, “The closets lock automatically if we activate the alarm inside, and the doors are reinforced.”

            Mark looked around. “Is that why you keep the closet empty?”

            “Yes. I don’t want to be stuck inside with old, musty sweaters if I’m going to be there a while.” Harry laughed at his little joke, but the detective just walked back to the wingback chair and plopped into it.

             Mark pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, as if trying to force away a headache. “Mister Corwin, the reason I didn’t come down here with a warrant and haul you off to jail with a ‘squadron of officers’ is because I’ve already checked out those times I mentioned earlier. As a matter of fact, I’ve checked your schedule for all of the crimes, and you have an airtight alibi for every single one of them. You were in a public place in front of dozens of witnesses each time. Waiters at restaurants remember you because you’re an excellent tipper. The readers camped out to get your autograph will swear up and down you were the one they talked to. Even the stewardesses remember you because of how nice you were to them. You even gave them all autographed copies of your book, for crying out loud. So unless you’ve figured out a way to be in two places at the same time, I’m left with nothing.”

            Mark pointed to the photographs on the desk. “Even with those, no judge would give me a warrant on you. You’ve got more witnesses to account for your whereabouts during those times than I do.”

            They sat in silence for several uncomfortable seconds. Finally, Harry said, “I’ve never committed a crime in my life, detective. And how on earth could anyone be in two places at the same time? It’s just not physically possible.”

            The detective stood and collected the photographs, sliding them back into the folder. He stopped at the close-up and shook his head, smiling. “This one is always the clincher for me. Whoever he is, he looks just like you.”

            “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here for this, detective, but I have enjoyed the visit.” Harry got up and walked to the bookshelf containing his books. He slid out a copy of Time Terror and opened it. Taking a pen from his desk, he wrote a quick inscription inside and handed it to the officer. “Please take this. I seldom get any visitors, and never one with such an interesting reason behind the visit.”
            Mark accepted the book. “Sorry to have bothered you, Mister Corwin.”

            “Please…call me Harry. And it was no bother. As a matter of fact, you’ve given me some excellent ideas for a future novel! Maybe this one won’t be my last after all.”

            Harry accompanied the detective to the front door. As he stepped out onto the front step, Mark turned. “You’d better hope he never commits a crime when you’re alone, Harry. If he ever does, you’ll have no defense.”

            Harry stood at the open door watching until the detective made it back to his car. He waved as Mark drove off, then locked the door and went back into his study. He opened the laptop and turned it on. As it booted, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

            He glanced at the crowded bookshelves. Everyone always seemed to go straight for the shelf with his books on them. They blocked out all the other wonderful titles on the shelves surrounding them. Even though his books were important, the real importance came from everything else. If the detective had known what to look for, the answer would have been right in front of him all along. Richard Matheson, Robert Heinlein, H.G. Wells…even the secret journal of Nikola Tesla.

            But he’d made the same assumption everyone else did. He’d seen Harry as nothing more than a hack writer; a geek with an obsessive fixation on Science Fiction.

            And the book Harry had given him had been carefully chosen. The inscription had been the final slap in the face.

           

            To Mark, a good detective.

             May you always find the answers you seek and the solutions to your mysteries.

             Harry.

           

            The solution had been right there in his hands.

            Returning his attention to the laptop, he found a file called Showtime and opened it. A short list of dates appeared on the screen. Harry carefully added the ones Detective Thompson had mentioned.

            The printer nearby began to hum and spit out the single page. Opening the top drawer of his desk, he removed a small revolver and tucked it into his pants. He scooped up the warm paper as he rose to his feet. The books stood all around him. He loved them all.

            No single volume held the answer; but taken as a whole, the collection had given him what he’d needed. He borrowed an idea here, a theory there, a concept to be built upon from another author, and finally he’d done the impossible. But instead of telling the world about it and having his idea corrupted or stolen, he decided to get creative first.

            Harry laughed. Two places at once…who’d ever heard of such a thing?

            Actually, he had.

            He stepped into the closet and closed the door behind him. Picking a date from the list, he typed it into the keypad. His finger hovered over the “Enter” button.

            It was so much fun to own a time machine.

 

Copyright 2005 by Brian Reaves

 

 

Reviews

[William J. Wilkins]

Great story, and comfortably original use of the time machine trick.

As an ex-cop, though, I probably should never read crime stories. I find flaws, and then feel like a jerk for pointing them out. However, I'm hopeful you're open to new ideas :D

First of all, drop the bank robbery from your list of crimes. Bank robbery is under federal jurisdiction and would not be investigated by local authorities, normally.

Second, your use of "probable cause" is improbable. Having photographic evidence of a suspect at a crime scene is not considered probable cause, and would not permit the cop to search the home without a warrant. On the other hand, presented with the photographic evidence, any reasonable judge would probably issue a valid warrant, even if the suspect seemed to have an airtight alibi.

In any event, the detective, without a warrant and without probable cause, would have been perfectly within the law to ask Henry's permission to "look around". If Henry agrees, then he has effectively surrendered his right to a warranted search, anyway. With that in mind, you could easily remove the whole discussion about probable cause from the story.

Just for future reference, probable cause is something that happens in an immediate sense. A car is weaving improperly in traffic; smoke billowing through a car window has the distinct scent of marijuana; a scream from inside a house, followed by a gunshot. Basically it's something that gives a cop a reasonable belief that a crime is in progress, allowing him to intervene immediately.

Hope you don't mind this input, because I really did enjoy the story.