Time Crime

The beat-up old Honda Civic pulled into a space next to Bill Bluestone's bright red Ferrari in the parking lot of Bluestone Inc. Timothy Waterfield got out of his car and ignored the stares of two cigarette-smoking employees as he heaved his three- hundred-fifty pound middle-aged body up the steps and into the twelve-story, glass-and-steel Bluestone building.

Waterfield took the lobby elevator to Bluestone's plush third-floor office suite and marched up to the overly powdered, penciled and lipsticked young woman sitting behind the secretary's desk.

"Dr. Waterfield! It's good to see you again," said Arlene Cotton, smiling brightly. "And how may we help you today?"

"I need to see Bluestone and I need to see him now," replied Waterfield.

"I'm sorry Dr. Waterfield, but Mr. Bluestone is quite busy this morning and can't be disturbed. If you'd like to make an appointment for later in the week, I'm sure we can accommodate you."

"Look, I'm tired of getting the run-around from you people. Where is Bluestone?" asked Waterfield as his face flushed with anger.

Arlene continued to smile pleasantly, but she ignored Waterfield's last remark, choosing instead to consult her employer's appointment book. "We could squeeze you in on Friday at 10:00, if that would be acceptable," she said.

"No, that would not be acceptable," said Waterfield, mocking the woman's official tone of voice. "I need to see him right now, today, this second. Is he in there?" he asked as he pointed to the door to Bluestone's private inner office.

"Yes, but . . ."

Waterfield pushed his bulk past Arlene's desk and headed for

the office door.

"Dr. Waterfield, you can't go in there!"

Waterfield entered the office to find Bill Bluestone shuffling through a pile of documents. Bluestone was a forty- year-old executive wunderkind with a trim, athletic physique, salt-and-pepper hair and coal-black eyes. He looked up from his desk to greet his visitor.

"Hi Tim," he said. "This is an unexpected pleasure." Though

Waterfield's body nearly blocked the doorway, Bluestone could see Arlene as she entered behind him.

"Mr. Bluestone, I'm sorry. He just pushed passed me and . . ."

"That's OK, Arlene. Close the door and leave us in

private."

"Yes sir," she said with a frown as she left the room.

"She's an efficient worker, Tim. You could use her in your office."

"Bluestone, you've got some explaining to do," said Waterfield.

"About what?"

"As if you didn't know!"

"Tim, I don't have any idea what you're talking about," said Bluestone with a smile. "So why don't you have a seat, relax for a second, collect your thoughts and tell me exactly what's on your mind?"

Waterfield sat down in one of Bluestone's plush visitor's chairs. "OK, I'm sitting, but don't expect me to relax. Not unless you have a nice big check for me."

"A check for what, Tim?"

"For the use of my microchip, you crook!"

"Tim, we've been over this a thousand times. The chip has to be approved by the Time Travel Commission. I can't use it until it is approved. And according to the terms of our contract, I don't have to pay you until I use it commercially."

"It won't work this time, Bill. I'm on to you," said Waterfield with a sly grin. "I've had an investigator tailing you and your people. He's given me proof that you've duplicated the chip and injected it into at least a dozen clients. My guess is that you've sent these people back in time, without TTC knowledge."

"Private time-travel groups are illegal, Tim. You know as well as I do that they outlawed private trips back in 2010, when the technology was first developed. What makes you think I'd be involved in any illegal activity?"

"Oh don't make me laugh."

"OK, where am I getting the time travel equipment?" asked Bluestone.

"I don't know the answer to that one yet, but, believe me when I tell you that I _am_ going to find the answer. And when I do, I'll go straight to the authorities." Although the smile never left Bluestone's face, Waterfield suspected that he had 'hit a nerve'. "Of course, if you pay for your use of the chip, I'll forget the whole thing," he continued.

"Tim, honestly I am not using your microchip. But perhaps I can forward you a little cash, just to tide you over."

"How much cash?" Waterfield asked with a lift of a bushy eyebrow.

"Let me think about it, Tim. Call me in a few days," said Bluestone.

When the big man had left his office, Bluestone placed a call.

"Bob, this is Bill. Call me back A.S.A.P." he said, recording a message into an answering machine. "It's important."

Sometime later, a muscular fellow with shabby clothes and small, beady eyes was sitting in the chair formerly occupied by Waterfield.

"So how much do you think he knows?" Bob Schultz asked.

"Not much. He's doing a lot of guess-work. Me--I don't like guess-work. I need you to find out the name of his investigator. That's one fellow I want on my team." Bluestone lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke through his nose.

"If you steal away his investigator, what's to stop him from hiring another?"

"Let me worry about that," Bluestone replied.

"What the heck is this chip, anyway?" asked Schultz.

"It's an updated version of the injectable time-displacement microchip they use to keep present day people from getting lost in the past. Although the TTC doesn't like to admit it, they've been unable to retrieve several dozen researchers because of glitches in the current technology. Waterfield's chip is a real a real improvement."

"Interesting."

"The man's a genius. He's an ugly fat slob and I don't much care for him, but I respect his mind. It's men like him who've made me rich. And the richer I am, the more money I'm able to pay you," said Bluestone as he snuffed out his cigarette in a large metal ashtray.

"So, I guess we'll have to make sure that you keep getting richer and richer," said Schultz.

"Yes. That's the idea."

#

Three days later, a meeting was arranged.

"I've got to hand it to you, Bluestone. This is a heck of a set-up," said Waterfield as he looked over the roomful of sophisticated equipment. Bluestone had called him earlier that morning with instructions to meet him at a downtown address.

"As far as I know, this is the only private time-travel unit in existence," said Bluestone.

Waterfield inspected the compact central CPU and the huge time-travel laser. The laser itself was attached to a chair and looked much like a futuristic version of a dental drill.

"This setup cost me a pretty penny, Tim, and I'm not just talking about the equipment," said Bluestone. "I paid a fortune in bribes just to keep my suppliers quiet about this little private venture."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Well, you just about had it all figured out anyway," said Bluestone. "What's the difference?"

"So, if I understand you correctly, you _are_ using my chip for your private groups. And so you are prepared to pay me as agreed in my original contract."

"Yes. I can't promise payment in full, but I'll have a check in the mail for $5000 in the next day or so."

"Well. That will hold me for awhile," said Waterfield, still looking over the equipment like a small boy who's jealous of a friend's new toy.

"This time travel equipment really fascinates you, doesn't it, Tim?" asked Bluestone.

"Frankly, yes. I've always wanted to take a trip into the past, but I've never had the opportunity. Do you think--uh-- maybe you could send me on a trip one of these days? Maybe in exchange for some of the money you owe me?" Waterfield asked.

"I think that could be arranged. Meanwhile, would you like to sit in the chair? Just to see what it feels like?"

"Would I? Sure!" Waterfield squeezed his oversized body into the time travel chair. "Oh, this is really quite comfortable."

"And for all its complexity, the unit is simple to operate," said Bluestone. "It has what they used to call a user-friendly interface. Let me show you." Bluestone walked over to the master control panel, placed against the back wall of the room and hit a switch. The laser started to glow and emit an electronic hum.

"OK, I see you've activated the laser. Now what happens?" asked Waterfield.

"Now, I get your out of my life for good," said Bluestone as he flipped a second switch. The laser light rapidly increased in intensity then flickered once, twice, three times. Simultaneous with the third flicker of laser light, Timothy Waterfield began to fade.

"Bluestone, stop this! Turn it off!" he yelled, just before disappearing entirely from the room.

"Goodbye Tim," said Bluestone. "It was nice knowing you."

#

Detective John Ryan smelled a rat. It was just a figurative dead rat, hidden behind a figurative refrigerator, but Ryan couldn't get the stench out of his mind. Dr. Waterfield was connected to the Time Travel Commission. In Ryan's mind, that automatically made the man's disappearance more than a mere missing person's case.

"I don't know what more I can tell you, Detective," said the young man at the TTC administration desk. "We haven't seen Dr. Waterfield in almost two months."

Ryan had been on this case since Waterfield was reported missing, three days earlier. The gentleman had failed to pay his apartment rent on the first of the month. A week and a half later, his landlady called the cops.

"He's always punctual, that Dr. Waterfield. Like a clock he is. Never a day late or a dollar short with my money," said Waterfield's grandmotherly landlady.

"How long has he lived here?"

"Going on to fifteen years, this spring," said the lady.

"He moved into the apartment back in 2019 or--maybe it was early in 2020."

"Maybe he's gone to live with friends or family." Ryan suggested. The detective ran a hand through his thinning brown hair and scratched the stubble on his chin.

"That don't make no sense," the landlady replied. "He left all his stuff here. Besides, Dr. Waterfield don't got many friends. He don't like sports--never has people over to the apartment as far as I know--and I live right upstairs."

"Does he have a girlfriend?"

"Well, he's kinda heavy, so you know he's not real good with the ladies."

The landlady took Ryan into Waterfield's apartment. It was a jumbled mess of papers piled on papers piled on ratty furniture. Most of the papers were academic studies of computers and microprocessor technology. A tiny television sat neglected in one corner of the living room.

Ryan entered a doorway into Waterfield's closet-sized bedroom and saw an unmade, single bed. A small desk sat next to the bed, an assortment of stones laid out on top of it. "Does he collect rocks?"

"Oh no, Mr. Detective. Those are diamonds," said the landlady.

"Real diamonds?"

"Yes. From what Dr. Waterfield said, they ain't worth nothin', but they are real diamonds. Seems his father and grandfather were jewelers or somethin'. So he collects the stuff for old times sake, I guess."

"Interesting hobby." Ryan asked for the landlady's permission to take the stones and some of the papers down to police headquarters, then spent the next day checking jewelry stores and fences to determine if anyone had seen Dr. Waterfield, recently. Checking in with the police lab early that afternoon, Ryan received some disheartening news.

"The landlady is essentially correct, Detective," said the technician who analyzed Waterfield's diamonds. "These diamonds aren't worth anything on today's market. Too many common flaws. Some years ago, these stones would have been worth quite a bit. But today, heck they're manufacturing diamonds of this quality."

At this point, the diamonds were starting to smell a bit fishy--like red herring, in fact. Ryan turned his attention to Waterfield's papers, then smacked himself on the head for no seeing the connection with TTC earlier.

The offices of the Time Travel Commission were quite crowded by the time John Ryan reached the administration desk. After an hour-long wait in a mile-long queue, he finally had an opportunity to ask a disinterested young bureaucrat some important questions.

"As I said," the man repeated for the third time, in his standardized reply to Ryan's varied questions. "We haven't seen Dr. Waterfield in almost two months. Have you been to his office?"

"He doesn't have an office. His business lease ended last month."

"Really? I should note that in his dossier," said the clerk.

"First tell me a little bit more about Dr. Waterfield's relationship to TTC. What was his connection with the Commission?"

The young man sighed as if Ryan's request required too much effort, then began tapping buttons on his computer keyboard.

"This information is confidential," he said, "But since you're a cop, I guess it's all right." The administration computer screen lit up with Waterfield's TTC curriculum vitae.

"Has he visited the past on one of your 'field missions'?" asked Ryan.

"Oh no. Nothing like that. He's been working on a new microchip," said the bureaucrat after a brief review of the file.

"What kind of microchip?"

"It's a retrieval device. It enables us to bring our travelers back from the past." said the young man. "Without it, once our clients went into the past, they'd have to stay there for the rest of their lives."

"That's an unpleasant prospect," said Ryan.

"Yes sir, it is. That's why we're constantly updating the retrieval technology. Dr. Waterfield's new microchip is potentially more reliable than the one we are currently using.

Of course, it's still being tested. His chip still has quite a few hurdles to go before it gets government approval."" The younger bureaucrat referred back to Waterfield's file. "It says here that approval isn't expected for another two years. Bluestone Inc. will be negotiating all of the contracts."

"Who or what is Bluestone, Inc?" Ryan asked.

"Well, the owner, Mr. Bluestone, is a patent broker," said the young man. "His company helps our scientists finance development of their projects for the government. He works with many researchers in many areas, not just Dr. Waterfield."

Ryan prepared himself to chase down another red herring.

"Do you have the address of Bluestone, Inc.?" he asked.

#

A young woman with bright red lips and too much perfume held Bluestone's calls while he was in conference with Detective John Ryan.

"Detective, I don't know anything about diamonds. If Dr. Waterfield is a diamond collector or diamond cutter, it's news to me," said Bluestone.

"OK, You haven't seen Dr. Waterfield for a month, is that right?" Ryan asked.

"Yes, but that's not uncommon. Until the government approves his chip, we won't have much to discuss."

"You seem to have a lot of interests in common with the TTC, Mr. Bluestone. That makes me curious."

"About what?" asked Bluestone as he pulled a gold cigarette lighter from his desk and lit a cigarette.

"About whether you've ever taken a trip in time yourself, for example."

"Check TTC records. You'll see that I've never been on a field mission," he said, exhaling a plume of smoke.

"But have you taken any private trips?"

"That's illegal."

"So is smoking in a public building, Mr. Bluestone." The executive smiled, then laughed out loud.

"And where there's smoke, there's fire. Is that the idea, Detective?" Bluestone asked.

"Usually. I see it this way, Mr. Bluestone. Dr. Waterfield's father was a jeweler. And there's a good chance Dr. Waterfield knows where his Dad's jewels were mined. The problem is, today, in the here and now, all those mines are spent. Of course, a hundred--hundred-fifty years ago, the gems were just sitting in those mines, ready for the taking. Luckily, the good doctor knows you and is due a good sum of money from your company when his magic chip is approved by the government. The problem is, that approval might take a while. But suppose, in exchange for his interest in this technology, the doctor had you use your vast connections to send him back in time? He could live the life of a wealthy man!"

"That's some story, Detective. Remind me to invite you to my next office party. You'll be a smash hit," said the executive as he casually snuffed out his cigarette. "Seriously, I think your imagination has been working overtime. I know nothing about Dr. Waterfield's disappearance. I simply had nothing to do with it. Your speculations are--far fetched at best. And Detective, that's all I have to say."

Ryan tipped an invisible cap at Bluestone and showed himself out of the office. A few moments later, Bluestone hit the intercom button on his phone and spoke to his secretary.

"Arlene," he said, "Please get Mr. Schultz on the line."

"Yes sir," said his secretary.

#

John Ryan spend the next twelve hours at the department of public records, pouring over lists of property owned by Bill Bluestone. He made notes of every building that was both deserted enough and large enough to hold private time travel equipment. Early the next morning, he cross-checked with power company records to determine which buildings had access to sufficient power. At 10 PM that evening, he drove to a downtown warehouse which seemed the most likely headquarters for illicit activities.

The warehouse was on a darkened street. Ryan noticed three lonely streetlights which had been smashed by teen gangs or criminals. The detective turned on his flashlight and looked into one of the warehouse windows. All he could see was a blank wall staring back at him.

Moving to the rear of the building, he found an open door. He entered, reasoning that if he found any banned equipment, he could speak to a friendly judge and get a search warrant for a proper, legal search of the premises. The flashlight guided Ryan through a maze of darkened, dirty corridors. He reached an inner door, opened it and entered into a large chamber.

The room was dominated by a huge chair, a laser device connected to a computer, a small power generator and wires and cable galore. Ryan was no expert, but he suspected that he was looking at a fully functional time-travel unit. He was about to inspect the equipment further, when he was hit hard from behind.

Ryan grabbed the back of his head, felt blood, then fell to the floor in an unconscious heap.

When he awoke, several hours later, bright sunlight was streaming into the room from a glass panel in the ceiling. Ryan's head throbbed and he could feel dried blood in his scalp. And, looking around the large room, he saw that every single piece of equipment had been removed. The large room was empty. As Ryan pulled himself to his feet, the shame of his failure quickly overtook the pain of his injury.

#

"So what can I do for you today, Detective?" asked Bluestone.

"I just wanted to congratulate you," said Ryan, as he once again sat in the executive's office and watched the man smoke his cigarettes.

"Congratulate me for what?" asked Bluestone, his face contorted into an expression of unbelievable innocence.

"For removing your time-travel apparatus so quickly and efficiently."

"Detective, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well it's like this. I broke into one of your warehouses the other night and saw your private time-travel unit."

"Really. That's quite interesting," said Bluestone, blowing smoke in Ryan's direction.

"Unfortunately, before I had a chance to examine the equipment, I was beaned on the head and knocked unconscious. When I woke up, the computer, power cables, laser--everything was gone. "

"Detective, you really do have an extraordinary imagination. Did you ever consider writing a novel?"

"Well, I never did care much for cop novels, Mr. Bluestone. You know what does interest me?"

"Please, tell me."

"Old newspapers. I mean, really old newspapers on microfilm. You see, once I knew that you owned the equipment, I knew that you had in fact sent Dr. Waterfield back in time. But I still didn't know where you sent him--or when."

Bluestone stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another. "Now you're going to tell me that you found a picture of Waterfield in an old newspaper. Detective, you're bluffing. I know it and you know it, so why don't you stop wasting my time?"

"No, Mr. Bluestone, I didn't find a picture of Dr. Waterfield. I found something better. I found an advertisement for his father's company, Waterfield Jewelers, in a paper dated 1893. It's an ad for a special diamond ring they were promoting at the time. Would you like to see it?"

"Sure, why not? We've gone this far."

Ryan pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. It was a copy of a page from the old newspaper. The advertisement for Waterfield Jewelers took up most of the page. It featured an illustration of a ring. The headline read: Bluestone. I promise to be with you, forever. Waterfield.

Bluestone took the paper from Ryan's hands, looked it over, then carelessly dropped it on his desk. "Cute. But what does it mean?"

"It's a clue, Mr. Bluestone. Dr. Waterfield was trying to tell me something."

"And what, pray tell, was he trying to tell you?"

"Where he was buried. You see, this big, beautiful Bluestone building was built over an old cemetary. And according to my research, one of the people buried in that cemetery was a successful jeweler named Timothy Waterfield."

Bluestone's face turned white and the cigarette fell from his lips.

"With this information, I can get permission to raze the building and search the foundation for the good doctor's remains," Ryan said. "Now, that just might put a damper on your day, don't you think?"