Holly knew she was in the right place when she saw the two uniformed officers posted at each side of the ornate, iron gate. She rolled down the car window to show them her police ID, and was waved through to a small gravel car park behind the modest, two-storey hotel. Although only half an hour from the office, Brandling Lodge and its surroundings made Holly feel as though she was in deep countryside. The hotel was surrounded by high, clipped hedges and at its feet stretched a long, manicured lawn bordered by neat beds. This was a far-cry from the average crime scene she attended.
It didn't take Holly long to find where the action was centred, and she stepped under the police cordon and walked over to where Grisham was standing in consultation with two detectives. An ambulance was parked at the side of the building, and Holly was in time to see the paramedics wheeling a trolley towards the vehicle, complete with an occupied body bag. The message passed on to Holly had been vague, mostly just the location and the sketchy details of the incident; that someone had fallen to their death from a balcony. Colleagues from the office greeted her as they passed back and forth, but she immediately found herself looking around for one familiar face in particular.
It had only been a couple of weeks since the file was closed on the Chapman and Haywood murders; only a fortnight since Stephen met his fate. Holly had lived through the days that followed with very mixed feelings, and had even wondered whether she might be experiencing shock of some kind. The exact truth of the case could never, of course, be revealed to Grisham or to anyone, but her boss understood enough of the situation to gently suggest that she might like to talk to a police counsellor. Holly had declined the offer, and the events of those days were already starting to lose their power over her, but it was still a lot to absorb. She had felt a sort of giddy exhilaration on reconnecting with Stephen again; all of that fondness came flooding back, and she was amazed by how easy it was, five years down the line, for them to pick up where they left off. When she realised she'd been deceived by him, she was as disgusted with herself as she was horrified with him. As the dust settled, Holly had tried to work out what Stephen's motive had been – after all, their dinner date had taken place before he found out about her machine. Had he sensed that her expertise – which, despite her modesty, she knew was probably superior to his – could come in useful in his plans? Or did he just want a ready alibi for when he attempted to kill Slade?
What had made the aftermath easier to handle had been Slade's reaction to it all. At no point did he say – or even imply – "I told you so", and his behaviour had been nothing but supportive; a gentleness and empathy permeating his trademark brashness. Holly started to wonder whether he, too, felt knocked sideways by what had happened.
There had been other changes, too, and these had started to preoccupy Holly to an uncomfortable degree. It started a few days after the case was closed, when Slade had suggested another outing to the cinema – on the grounds that he could choose the film. As the lights went down, she felt his arm graze her shoulders as it came to rest on the back of her seat. From that point, concentrating on the screen had been almost impossible. When they emerged outside, her comment about the cold was met with Slade pulling her close and squeezing her shoulder - and what surprised Holly was that he kept his arm around her until they reached the Tube station.
Things at work carried on more or less completely as normal, and Holly had started to dismiss what had happened as yet another thing she had inflated out of proportion. Friends could show physical affection to each other, couldn't they? And perhaps, as her friend, it wasn't so surprising that he would be feeling protective towards her now. A couple of nights later, they had gone to the wine bar after work as they sometimes did, and Holly found that the reassurance she felt that everything was back to normal was tinged with another emotion entirely – disappointment. But as they left the bar and started to walk home, Holly felt Slade's hand reach across and take hers, without a word passing between them. It was so unexpected that it took several minutes before her heart rate started to normalise and her mind stop racing. She daren't even look at Slade in case he let go of her hand, but instead let herself enjoy this unexpected warmth and intimacy.
"Turner, I need you over here."
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her boss' voice.
"What's happening, Chief?" she asked, walking over to join her. It was time to concentrate on her job.
"We think we're looking at an accident, but I want to be sure," Grisham told her. "The victim was found late last night by his fiancée. They had been planning to get married this afternoon."
As Grisham was talking, Slade rounded the corner and came towards them. He offered her a smile behind their boss' back, before Grisham noticed he was there.
"I have to telephone the Commissioner," Grisham said. "I'll let Slade fill you in on the details."
"Hi," he said, after Grisham had left. "Probably not the day the happy couple had in mind."
Holly folded her arms, surveying the scene.
"Do we know what happened?"
"Seems pretty straight-forward," Slade replied. "Man drinks too much and falls off a balcony onto his head. Tragic maybe, but nothing more."
"So why am I here?"
Slade smiled.
"Because I requested you," he said.
Holly felt herself blushing.
"And also because Grisham's under pressure," Slade added. "The would-be-bride's mother is one of the country's top civil servants."
Holly nodded.
"Oh, and there's another twist to the tale," Slade continued. "Turns out that nobody knew anything about the wedding being today; it wasn't due to happen for another six months."
"I should make a start," Holly said, watching the crime scene photographer cataloguing the area around where the body landed.
"He'll be another ten minutes or so. Why don't you come with me?"
"Where?"
"I'm talking to the fiancée and need someone else there. Nicky's at the training college today, and I think she's got enough problems without bringing Morris into the equation."
Inside, Brandling Lodge was a haven of quiet, and Holly could see why people would come here to get away from it all. It was a pale-brick, nineteenth century building; an old private house that had been lovingly converted into a boutique hotel. The manager's office was now a makeshift interview room, and waiting there was a young woman in her late twenties, pacing restlessly with eyes red and swollen.
"Donna Richards?" Slade asked.
She nodded, and he introduced the two of them.
"We're sorry for your loss," he told her.
"So everyone keeps saying," the woman said, with a short, wry laugh.
"We're trying to established what happened to your fiancé, and why," Holly put in. She handed the woman a box of tissues sitting on the desk beside her.
"I need you to walk us through everything that happened," Slade said. "Everything from the time you arrived here at the hotel."
The woman sighed, wiping her eyes with one of the tissues.
"We got here yesterday evening, about six. Mike had been travelling for work, so we came up separately; I did the packing for us both. We both went to our rooms -"
"You had separate rooms?" Slade asked.
The woman nodded, fixating on the ball of tissue in her hand.
"Yes. We wanted to sleep separately the night before our wedding. Sounds pretty stupid when you know we've been living together for five years."
"Did you leave the hotel at all?" Holly asked.
"We went to a pub in the village for something to eat," she said. "That would have been about seven, and we were back at the hotel by nine-thirty. We both wanted to get a good night's sleep."
"And did Mr Grady leave your sight at any time before that?"
She shook her head.
"Aside from going to the bar to buy drinks."
"And you were the one who found him?" Slade asked.
Unsurprisingly, Holly saw that tears were forming in the woman's eyes again.
"I knocked on his door to say goodnight," she explained. "I'd been downstairs using the pool. When Mike didn't answer, I found that the door was open. I called out to him, but he didn't respond. I checked the bathroom, and then I noticed that the doors onto the balcony were open."
"Did you see anything else?"
"What do you mean?"
"Anything unusual in the room, round about?"
"Just the smashed wine glass on the balcony. And when I saw that, I knew something was wrong. I walked over the edge...and then I saw him."
The woman turned away, shielding her eyes as though afraid of breaking down completely.
"I can't believe he's gone," she said, her voice cracking.
Holly could see that Slade had wrapped up his immediate questions, and looked at her questioningly, to see whether she was going to follow him. But it didn't seem right just to walk out like that, to be so dispassionate; just one of the reasons she could never be a police officer.
"How did you and Mike meet?" she asked the woman.
Holly expected to see Slade slip out of the room, but instead he hovered at a distance, eventually coming to rest on one of the desks in the corner.
"At university, eight years ago," she replied. "Mike is from the States, and he was over here on an exchange programme. To be honest, when I first met him, I thought he was an arrogant idiot, and I only really agreed to go out with him because we had a mutual friend. We had a few dates, and I was actually on the verge of ending things because it didn't seem to be going anywhere. But he begged me for another chance, and something just changed - ever since then we've barely been apart."
Holly felt the weight of the emotion behind the woman's words. Although she had never lost a partner, she was familiar with losing someone close to her.
"Had you been planning the wedding long?" she asked, gently.
The woman looked up, shaking her head and trying to smile.
"We've been engaged for three years, but it took until last year for us to actually start planning anything. To be honest, I'd been dreading it a bit; these things seem to have a habit of spiralling out of control, and like I thought, the wedding started to take over my life. But then suddenly, Mike turned up at my work last week, told me he'd booked the church, and he wanted us to get married by ourselves, just the two of us."
"How did you feel about that?"
"Surprised at first, but then I loved the romance of it, the two of us together. I've got a big family, and I knew that if we went ahead with what we'd planned, I wouldn't be able to enjoy it because I would spend the whole time worrying whether they were okay."
"And what did they think about you getting married?" Slade put in.
"My family? They were happy about it – well, as happy as my mother ever gets. It was a good opportunity to show off to her friends, if nothing else. The Speaker of the House was on the guest list, you know."
"And Mike's family?" Holly asked.
She saw the woman's expression change again.
"They didn't know about the wedding," she replied. "In fact, I don't even think they know about me. Mike hasn't spoken to them in years, certainly not since I've known him."
The woman shook her head.
"I don't even know how to contact them to...tell them."
"We can ask the US Embassy to help with that," Slade told her.
At that moment, there was a knock on the door and Morris stuck his head around the door frame. Holly waited with the woman while Slade stepped into the hall to speak with him. When he returned, he was holding a black wallet.
"Is this Mike's wallet?" Slade asked.
The woman frowned, and immediately shook her head.
"No. Mike's wallet was brown. I bought it for his birthday two years ago."
"Okay, thanks," Slade said, pocketing the wallet.
The woman seemed to be looking to Holly for guidance on what to do next. She's seen enough similar situations to have a good idea.
"A police liaison is going to come and see you," Holly told her. "They'll stay with you for as long as you need."
Once outside the room, Holly carefully watched Slade, who was pacing thoughtfully up and down the hallway.
"What's the wallet all about?" she asked.
"It was found in the garden," he replied. "Could have fallen out of our victim's pocket."
"But Donna said it wasn't his."
"I know," he said. "But look at this."
He opened the leather wallet and flipped out a small photograph.
"Aside from a bit of cash, it's the only thing in here."
The photo, Holly saw, was of a small boy probably about seven years old, photographed in a garden and holding a tennis racket.
"Who do you think this is?" she asked.
"I dunno, but I'm starting to wonder whether there are things Mike Grady wasn't telling his fiancée."
"What, you think he had another family somewhere and that this is his son?"
"Maybe. And maybe he kept two wallets, one for each of his 'lives'."
"But how would he possibly keep that secret from Donna? They seemed so close."
Slade shrugged.
"Maybe she knew."
"What?"
"Maybe she found out and therefore maybe Mike's fall wasn't an accident."
Holly couldn't believe what she was hearing. She knew she wasn't always the smartest judge of character, but she'd seen enough fabricated grief in her time with the police to know when she was witnessing the real thing. And she recognised the symptoms she'd suffered herself.
"Slade, that's ridiculous!"
"Is it?"
"Yes! You're looking in the wrong place. If this wasn't an accident – and I'm not saying it wasn't – there is no way in the world that Donna Richards was involved."
"So where should I be looking?" he smiled, obviously finding her resoluteness amusing.
Holly sighed. She looked down at the photograph, still in her hand, and that was when she noticed something on the periphery of the picture.
"What's that?" she said, holding the photo out to Slade.
"Rugby ball?"
She shook her head.
"I don't think so. Don't you think it looks more like an American football?"
Slade shrugged.
"So what?"
"Don't you think it's unusual?"
"Not for an American," he replied.
Although unsure quite why, Holly unzipped the cash pocket of the zip and tipped the jangling content into her hand. It was mostly small change, coppers and a couple of pound coins, but then her eyes settled on something less familiar. She held it up to Slade, who took it from her questioningly.
"It's a five cent coin," she told him.
Slade stuffed his hands in his pockets and frowned.
"Why would he have that?" Holly continued.
"Maybe he took a trip back home."
"Donna never mentioned any trips to the States," Holly said.
"Maybe he went without telling her."
"But she said they've barely been apart the whole time they've known each other."
"So what's your point, Holly?" Slade sighed.
In all honesty, Holly wasn't completely sure of what her point was, but she knew Slade's bloody-mindedness was once again preventing him from considering anyone's ideas but his own.
While she was still trying to formulate an argument, Holly heard someone call Slade's name, and Detective Charlie Bell came down the hallway, waving a brown folder in front of him.
"Interview notes, Slade," Charlie told them. "We've spoken to all the staff who were here last night and we've got Morris talking to staff from the pub in the village."
"Thanks, Charlie," Slade said, before the other detective headed back to his duties.
As Slade took the folder, Holly's eyes were drawn to the photograph paper-clipped to the front. He looked at her with bemusement as she took the folder in order to get a better look. Right away, she knew her initial instincts had to be correct. She still had the wallet in her hand, and she hurriedly fished inside it for the snap of the young boy; there was no mistaking either the eyes or the smile. She held both pictures out to Slade.
"What?" he said, furrowing his brow.
"This is not Mike Grady's son," Holly said. "This is Mike Grady."
She saw Slade's expression change; could almost see his brain starting to map out the new possibilities ahead.
"Why would he carry a childhood photo of himself?" Slade wondered out loud.
Without giving Holly the chance to respond, he set off back down the corridor to the office, where he knocked and went in. When Holly followed him, she saw Donna Richards talking to a female officer, the police liaison.
"Do you recognise this photo?" Slade asked the woman, holding it out to her.
Donna Richards took it, and a look of puzzlement crossed her face. She shook her head.
"No. Where did you get this?"
"It was in the wallet we showed you earlier. You sure you've never seen it?"
"Mike only had a few photos from his childhood, so I know all of them pretty well. As I said, he didn't have any contact with his family back home."
Just as Slade was about to take the photo back, Donna Richards stopped him.
"Wait a second," she said, frowning.
"What?"
"This isn't Mike."
"Why do you say that?" Holly asked. She was certain of the resemblance, and Slade had clearly been convinced, too.
"I know it looks like Mike, like the other photos of him," she said. "But this boy, there's a scar on his leg. Mike doesn't...didn't have a scar like that."
Holly peered at the photograph again. The boy did indeed have a noticeable scar several inches long stretching from just below his knee, which almost looked to Holly like a surgical scar.
"Maybe it faded," Slade suggested.
"And Mike was left-handed. This boy has the tennis racket in his right hand," Donna Richards continued.
Holly thanked her on both of their behalves, and Slade followed her from the room.
"That was strange," Holly said.
Slade nodded.
"But she's not in a great frame of mind at the moment," he replied. "She's grieving. She could be wrong about the photo."
"Slade, when you know someone that well, when you spend so much time with them, you don't make mistakes like that," Holly told him. "I know I could pick you out from a line of impostors."
Slade smiled, and Holly realised she had inadvertently equated herself and Slade with a romantically-involved couple. She quickly tried to move the conversation on.
"Don't you think there's something not right here?"
"Yeah, I do," Slade replied. "But I think the only person who knows what that thing is, is awaiting a date with the coroner."
There was a brief pause.
"Unless..."
Holly looked up at Slade and saw that he had that look in his eye, which only ever meant one thing.
"No!" Holly told him.
"You didn't even know what I was going to say!" he protested.
"You're forgetting how well I know you," Holly replied.
Slade rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically.
"But you said yourself there's something else going on here," he continued.
"Yes, and it's your job to find out what. Isn't that why you became a detective in the first place – to solve mysteries?"
Slade grinned.
"No, I did it for the women."
Holly shook her head in mild exasperation, but she suspected Slade could see she was blushing.
"Look, you've got a brand new electromagnetic crystal, just waiting to be tested out," he reasoned. "What's the point in having the machine if you treat it like a museum piece?"
Holly snorted; there was a marked difference between the small, controlled experiments she used to conduct on her own and the reckless, irresponsible use that Slade advocated.
Slade moved closer to her, lowering his voice even though there was really no-one else around.
"If we can travel back, we'll see what really happened, and then at the very least we can give Donna Richards some peace of mind," he said.
"You'll get Grisham off your back, you mean," Holly retorted.
"No reason why we can't do both."
Holly sighed. Even as she stood there, she knew her resolve was weakening.
Slade held the door for Holly as they entered Sundown Court, and although the timing was completely inappropriate, she had a powerful urge to ask him what was going on. One minute he was holding her hand, and the next he was reverting to his same old pressure-tactics regarding the machine and acting as though nothing else was going on. But then if Slade wanted something more to happen, he surely would have made his move by now, wouldn't he? God knows he'd had plenty of opportunities recently. Holly was struck by the horrifying thought that perhaps he expected her to give him some sort of signal. She was so out of practice it was embarrassing.
As Holly set about programming the machine, Slade hovered around her.
"I think we should start at the hotel," he mused. "Get there in time for Mike and Donna to check in."
"That depends entirely on how long the machine gives us," Holly reminded him.
"You really need to work on that," he replied, grinning.
"If you find several thousand pounds just lying around, you know where to send it," she retorted.
Slade collapsed into a chair and waited while the machine lurched into life and cycled through the now-familiar process, which Holly suspected he now took wholly for granted.
She checked the watch. Slade was in luck; the machine had granted them more than twelve hours.
"We need to get going," she told him. "I'll be arriving home any time now."
Slade glanced at his own watch.
"Lucky you. I'm still in the office writing reports."
"You really need to work on that," Holly said, hearing him chuckle quietly as they left the flat.
Holly waited behind a hedge while Slade went to scout the hotel reception. She saw him reappear, beckoning her towards him.
"We're okay," he told her. "It's a different desk clerk from the one I saw earlier – I mean the one I'll see later. They won't recognise us."
Before Holly could ask what he had in mind, she found herself being led by the hand into the building. They were greeted by the young woman at the desk.
Slade adopted one of his most charming smiles.
"We were just passing and thought we'd stop for a night at your beautiful hotel."
"Can I take your names?"
"Mr and Mrs Wilson," Slade said without an alarming lack of hesitation. Holly was still vaguely traumatised by that first foray into time travel with Slade, disguised as married caterers.
"We're newly married," Slade added.
Holly threw him a look, trying not to glare too overtly.
The woman smiled and started to take their details, at which point Holly pulled Slade aside by the arm.
"This is crazy, Slade," she whispered. "We're not going to get away with this. Someone will recognise us – or worse, we'll end up bumping into Grisham – and then how will we explain it?"
Slade gave a dismissive little shake of the head, which Holly knew meant that she shouldn't worry so much, but he was hardly without form when it came to getting into trouble.
"We wondered if we could have one of the rooms at the front, with a balcony?" Slade asked.
"Ah, you're in luck," the receptionist said, tapping at her keyboard. "Two of those are booked for tonight, but room seven is free."
A few minutes later, Slade was unlocking the door to the room. As Slade stood back to let her in, Holly stopped.
"Wait, shouldn't I be carrying you over the threshold, Mrs Wilson?"
She fired him another look, and walked into the room which, she had to admit, was beautiful. She wasn't surprised that Mike Grady would think it the perfect place to bring his fiancée the night before their wedding.
Slade made his way over the window, and almost immediately gestured for Holly to join him.
"There," he said. "They must be coming back from the pub."
Holly couldn't help the stab of sorrow she felt, knowing how fundamentally Donna Richards' life would be changed in just a few, short hours. Moving from the window to the door, they heard the couple coming up the stairs, laughing, talking; Holly cast her eyes to the floor when it became apparent that they were sharing a kiss. At the same time, she heard Slade quietly clear his throat. He then peered through the peep-hole in the door.
"They're going to her room," he whispered.
Holly sighed.
"Okay, now what?"
"Room service?"
Holly gave him a look.
"According to your laws of time, once we get back to the present, my credit card would be clear, right?" he grinned.
Half an hour later, Holly found herself tucking into what was admittedly a delicious club sandwich, wondering once again how she allowed herself to be talked into these things. Slade had already finished his cheese-burger and was hovering at the door of the hotel room, checking the peep-hole intermittently. Eating dinner at least helped the time to pass while they waited for Mike Grady; as he clearly fell from his own balcony, Slade reasoned, he had to leave his fiancée's room at some stage. Without the distraction of food, Holly wondered where the conversation might end up going, whether she might end up demanding to know what was happening between them.
"I'm going to take a look," Slade said, suddenly.
"What?!" Holly spluttered.
"Relax, Holly, I'm just going to check Mike's room to make sure we haven't missed him. You coming?"
"Do I have a choice?"
Holly quickly wiped her fingers on a napkin and crept out of the door after him. She stood guard while Slade tried the door of Mike Grady's room. No sooner had he shook his head to indicate nobody was there, then the door to Donna Richards' door opened and Mike Grady himself appeared. Stunned, Holly and Slade both froze; there was no time to try and look casual. But Mike Grady didn't seem to notice; instead, he nodded and grinned at them as he passed by. Holly was just about to allow herself to breathe again when Mike Grady spoke.
"Hey, you guys are staying here tonight, right?"
Holly looked at Slade, who replied that they were.
"Great! And are you around tomorrow at all? I know this is a huge ask, and kind of ridiculous really, but we – my girlfriend and me – are getting married tomorrow, and we've done it in a big rush and we don't have any witnesses. You guys wouldn't consider doing it, would you? I know you've probably got plans, but if you could spare us just an hour, you would really be helping me out. I'll shout you dinner tomorrow night, if you're around, as a thank you."
"Er..." Slade began, clearly floundering as much as Holly was.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pressured you like that," Mike Grady continued. "You must think I'm some kind of nut. But would you think about it for me? I'm just next door."
"Yeah," Slade said, swallowing hard and clearly trying to smile. "Of course."
As Mike disappeared into his room, Holly threw Slade a look. He shrugged, as though to protest his innocence. One thing Holly hadn't yet got used to was the experience of meeting or even seeing someone she knew was – in the present – no longer alive. Slade, however, wasn't wasting any time. He had taken up a position by the door frame of Mike Grady's room, his head tilted towards the door as he attempted to hear what was going on. Holly half expected him to propose that he scale the outside of the building in order to better listen in. Then, Slade beckoned towards her.
"He's talking to someone," Slade whispered, once she was at his shoulder.
"On the phone?"
Slade held up a finger to hush her.
"Can't tell," he whispered.
Suddenly, Holly could hear voices, too, and she knew what she was hearing was an argument, although the exact words were still muffled. She and Slade exchanged glances, both knowing what must be coming next. As the voices were joined by the sound of a scuffle, she saw Slade's hand go to the door handle. Before she had the chance to remind him of the rules around changing the past, everything fell silent. Slade's expression conveyed that he was as uncertain as she was, and his hand dropped from the door.
"Slade?" Holly whispered.
At that moment, they both heard footsteps rapidly approaching the door from the other side. Holly barely had time to react before she felt Slade yank her away. Just as the door opened, he bundled her into an alcove across the corridor from Mike Grady's room. From this vantage point, they saw the door slowly open and Mike Grady step out of the room; he looked both ways down the corridor before heading right down the hallway, his pace increasing as he went.
There was no time to consider what had just happened because the next thing Holly knew, the door to Donna Richards' room was opening, and while they had been hidden from Mike, she and Slade were in her direct line of vision. A quick glance at Slade told her that he knew there was nowhere to hide and nowhere to go – and if Donna saw them, the game was up. Or would be when she saw them the next day.
Before she had even thought about it, Holly had reached up, grabbed Slade by his neck and was kissing him. At the same time, she was able to drag him deeper into the alcove until they were jammed into the back corner. Holly's heart was hammering in her chest – what the hell was she thinking? And what the hell must Slade be thinking? Judging by the way he was kissing her back, he clearly wasn't suffering unduly. She allowed herself a split second to savour this - trying to disregard what the kiss appeared to be doing to her body – before she released Slade. Holly had never seen him look so shell-shocked.
"Holly..." he began, his voice barely more than a rasp.
"It's okay, she's gone," Holly replied, tucking her hair behind her ears.
"Who's gone?"
"Donna. She must have gone to see Mike."
She looked past Slade, but could no longer see anyone.
"Oh," Slade said, a look of bewilderment on his face. "Right."
"But we saw Mike leave," Holly continued, feeling as though the more she talked, the less embarrassed she might feel. "So where did he go, and why?"
At that moment, they both heard an ear-splitting scream and knew immediately that it was Donna. She had found her fiance's body.
Slade's instinct was to run towards the crime scene, but Holly grabbed him by the arm.
"You can't go in there, Slade, we can't be involved!"
They both retreated to the relative safety of the alcove, Slade leaning around to keep an eye on the door of Mike's hotel room.
"How can she have found his body?" Slade whispered. "We saw him leave the room before she got there."
Holly was turning this over in her mind, realising that the adrenaline of the case was now replacing the endorphins that had been flooding her brain a few moments earlier.
A few moments later, the door to Mike's room flew open, and they saw a distraught Donna run towards to the stairs, presumably to alert the hotel staff. Slade immediately made a move towards the room she had just left, and Holly followed him cautiously.
"We don't have much time," she warned him. "They'll be back to check the room any moment, and it won't be long before the local police arrive."
Inside the room, there was little sign that anything was amiss. Mike Grady's suitcase lay open on the bed and his suit hung on the wardrobe door. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. The French door to the balcony was open, and it was only when they tentatively stepped out that Holly spotted the broken wine glass that Donna had earlier referred to – or rather would later refer to. When they peered over the edge, they could see that Mike Grady was indeed dead and lying on the ground below, his limbs splayed at awkward angles to his body. Seconds later, people began to swarm; first Donna, then staff from the hotel.
"Let's go," Slade whispered, taking Holly's arm as he made his way back through the room.
Back in the relatively safety of their own room, Holly could see that Slade's mind was racing. As she perched on the desk, he paced the room in circles.
"Maybe he didn't fall at all," he said. "I mean, we saw him leave that room, so he couldn't have fallen. Plus, there was no sign of a struggle. Maybe he was killed outside and it was made to look like a fall."
"But his injuries speak for themselves," Holly argued. "They were consistent with a two-storey fall. You couldn't inflict that sort of damage by assaulting someone."
"Okay, so say he did fall from the balcony – somehow," Slade continued. "How could whoever did it get into the hotel, particularly at night? We know from the interviews that staff didn't let anyone unauthorised into the hotel, and there were certainly no signs of anyone breaking in."
Holly frowned.
"So it must have been someone who was already here."
"Or someone who wouldn't be noticed," Slade nodded.
Holly started to think about all that they'd seen and been told. They weren't looking at this the right way, she was certain.
"There must be a way for Mike Grady to leave his hotel room and yet still fall from the balcony," she said, thinking aloud.
"You're not suggesting that he has a time machine, too?" Slade said, grinning. "In which case, the sight of himself would have obliterated him, not just send him plummeting off the balcony."
Holly shook her head.
"Have you heard of Occam's Razor, Slade?"
"I take it that it has nothing to do with what I do every morning with a can of shaving foam?"
"It's a principle that states that the simplest theories are the ones we should accept, unless there is evidence to the contrary."
It was Slade's turn to look confused.
"So...?"
"What if we just thought we saw Mike leave the room, in the same way the photograph of the boy looked like Mike?"
"The photo was Mike."
"Not according to Donna."
Holly realised that she could hear voices in the room next door.
"We need to get out of here," she told Slade. "They'll want to talk to us, to find out whether we saw or heard anything."
He nodded.
"Okay. And on the way, you can tell me what this is all about."
A few minutes later, they were back in the relative safety of Holly's car and on the road leading back to the city.
"Where are we going?" Slade asked. "Back to the office?"
"Not yet," she told him. "There's something I want to check first."
Shortly afterwards, Slade found himself in one of his least favourite places – the police morgue. Mike Grady was awaiting a date with a coroner, but until then, his resting place was under a sheet on a stainless steel table. Slade kept his distance while Holly moved over to take a look at the body. He had seen plenty of corpses in the line of work, but usually they were fairly freshly dead, and there was something eerie about a room full of cold, naked bodies. It also seemed wrong that his brain kept wandering back to that alcove in the hotel, still trying to process that mind-blowing kiss...
"What exactly are you looking for, Holly?" he asked, turning his attention back to the job at hand.
Holly lifted the sheet away from Mike's legs and folded it back.
"That," she told him.
Sensing that he had no choice but to move closer, Slade came over to where she was standing – and immediately saw what she was talking about. There was a long surgical scar on the corpse's leg.
"But Donna said there was no scar," he said.
"Yes, which is also why she said the boy in the photo wasn't Mike," Holly agreed.
"Are you saying that this isn't Mike Grady, then?"
"It seems possible."
"In which case, who's this on the slab, his double?"
Holly smiled.
"Maybe. In a manner of speaking," she replied. "But what would make more sense?"
Slade's face slowly spread into a smile, as he understood what she was driving at.
"An identical twin," he said.
Holly nodded.
"It would explain why Donna was adamant the photograph wasn't Mike, and it would also explain why we were able to see him leave his hotel room, only for him to also have fallen from the same balcony. One man fell -"
"And the other one did a runner," Slade concluded.
"So assuming that this isn't Mike", Holly said, indicating to the body in front of them. "We need to track down the real Mike so he can answer a few questions."
"I'll call the station," Slade agreed. "Maybe Nicky can start doing some digging."
"A twin brother?" Grisham said, disbelievingly.
Slade and Holly were now standing in her office, and Slade got the distinct impression that his boss wasn't completely on board with his and Holly's latest theory.
"It has to be," Slade pressed. "It's the only thing that makes sense."
"I'm glad you think so," Grisham retorted.
"It explains why our corpse has a surgical scar and Donna's fiancé doesn't," he said.
"You've presented some flimsy evidence in your time, Slade, but this is pushing it even for you," she told him. "If this were true, why didn't the fiancée mention this convenient twin brother?"
"It seems likely she didn't know," Holly replied.
Slade continued.
"When Holly and I spoke to her, she said she knew very little about Mike's family in the States, except that they were estranged."
"So why would Michael Grady's twin brother suddenly materialise at the hotel, and how has he then ended up on the mortuary slab?"
This was, Slade inwardly admitted, where his theory needed a little more work.
"Only the real Mike Grady can answer that," he told Grisham.
Grisham sighed.
"Well, we've put out an emergency call, and the airports and ferry terminals are on alert in case he tries to leave the country," she said. "But if you make me look any more of a fool than I already feel, Slade, you'll wish you had a twin to take the blame, too."
Slade nodded, message received loud and clear.
"You'd better talk to Donna Richards again," Grisham sighed. "Especially if it turns out she's mourning a man who isn't actually dead."
A police escort was hastily arranged, and less than an hour later, Donna Richards was seated in front of Holly and Slade in one of the interview rooms. Nicky's hard work on the research front had managed to unearth a copy of Mike Grady's birth certificate, which Holly had presented to Donna.
"Where did you get this?" she asked, quietly.
"He had to submit it when he applied to come to university here," Holly told her.
"They both did," Slade added. "Michael Grady and Andrew Grady."
He watched Donna look at the two names listed on the certificate.
"Why didn't he tell me?" she asked. "We told each other everything."
"He must have had his reasons," Slade said. "When we find him, we can ask him."
"Mike could never kill someone," Donna said, adamantly. "And if there was an accident, he wouldn't have run. He would have stayed and done the right thing. And he wouldn't do this to me."
At that moment, there was a knock at the door of the interview room, and Nicky poked his head around. He gave his apologies, and beckoned Slade and Holly out of the room.
"What's up, Nicky?" Slade asked.
"You won't believe this, Slade – Mike Grady is here."
"What?"
"That was quick," Holly commented.
Ho
"Well, yes. He actually handed himself in."
Slade was starting to wish that all of his cases would progress in this way.
"So where is he now?"
"Um, down the corridor. Interview room six," Nick told him, adding hopefully, "Do you want me to start the interview with him?"
Slade laughed, patting Nicky on the shoulder.
"Nice try, Nicky."
The Holly spoke up.
"Slade," she said, and he recognised the insistent tone. He allowed her to briefly take him off to one side.
"What?"
"We can't talk to Mike Grady, remember? He saw us, he spoke to us at the hotel – you practically agreed to be a witness at his wedding. And besides, we've got just over an hour before we need to be back at the machine."
She was right, of course. Even after all this time, he still occasionally lost track of the sequence of events when time-travel was involved, and how many hours had passed. He paused for a moment, before turning back to his graduate-trainee colleague.
"Actually, Nicky, why don't you take a crack at him after all?"
Nicky's face was a picture; he clearly couldn't tell whether Slade was employing heavy sarcasm, or possibly just winding him up.
"Are you sure, Slade?"
"Yes, go on. Take someone else in with you – as long as it's not Morris."
They watched as Nicky practically ran back in the direction of the office, Slade more convinced than ever that Nicky's enthusiasm for police work was not normal.
"Is he going to be okay?" Holly asked him, a note of scepticism in her voice.
"Grady handed himself in, which means he wants to talk, so it shouldn't be too tough," Slade shrugged. "Besides, we don't have much option."
On the drive back to Holly's flat, Slade found the silence between them too tempting. Several times he had to stop himself from asking Holly outright why she had kissed him. She had implied that it was a tactic to prevent Donna Richards from seeing their faces, from later recognising them, but it was an action that was so out of character for Holly. And it didn't feel like play-acting, it felt real; it felt very much like the kiss he had spent months waiting and hoping for. He was only sorry that the circumstances weren't different.
"You're very quiet," Holly asked, as she guided the car into a parking space outside Sundown Court. "What's on your mind?"
"Nothing," he told her, although her expression suggested that she didn't believe him.
"Well, I'm just relieved that for once we're not having to do some ridiculous mad-dash across the city to get back in time," Holly said, as they went into the building. "I'm starting to think that you might actually be taking this more seriously."
"Taking what more seriously?"
He had been distracted again, momentarily thinking Holly might be talking about the two of them.
"Time travel, Slade; the machine."
"Oh yes," he replied, quickly. "Completely."
While the machine returned them to the present, Slade lingered behind Holly, his mind darting between her and the case they were trying to solve. Things had changed since the business with Stephen Marlowe, and since then he had been trying navigate a way to tell her how he felt. A few months ago, before the machine, the idea of them being together would have seemed crazy, but now it was the only future he could imagine for himself. They had started to spend more time together outside of work, and although Holly was doing nothing to discourage him, Slade had resolved to take things slowly; apart from anything, he knew she had been more deeply affected by what happened to Marlowe than she was letting on. Maybe he should have just kissed her the other night when he walked her back to her flat, but it had taken all of his nerve just to hold her hand, which seemed stupid given how old they were and what decade they were living in.
"Slade, are you coming?"
Holly's voice jolted him back to reality. She was looking at him quizzically.
"Yeah, 'course," he told her, as he followed her out of the flat.
When they arrived back at the office, Slade could see Nicky was installed in Grisham's office. Grisham spotted them almost immediately, and opened her door wide enough to order them into the room.
"Nice of you both to join us again," Grisham said, as Holly slipped into the room behind Slade. "Where have you been?"
"We had, ah, something we needed to finish," Slade replied. "You know, to do with the investigation."
"Something so important that you would leave the questioning of a murder suspect to a graduate trainee?"
Slade's eyes flicked towards Nicky as he tried to work out whether some manner of disaster had taken place in the past hour. He opened his mouth, hoping that whatever response emerged would be coherent, but Grisham beat him to it.
"As it happens, Robson has done a remarkable job," she said.
By now, Nicky was clearly making every effort to conceal a huge smile.
"So what happened?" Slade asked.
Nicky looked to Grisham, who responded with a nod.
"Go on, Robson."
"It's pretty incredible, actually. I mean, we'll need to verify certain elements, of course, but his story appears to make sense. Mike Grady does – did – have a twin brother, and it's true he never told his fiancée about him."
"Did you find out why?" Slade asked.
"Yes, and this is where it gets interesting. Michael and Andrew Grady both came over here to attend the same university. Andrew meets Donna at a student bar and they start dating – except that it's not always Andrew she's dating, because he and Mike regularly swap places, something they've been doing since they were children. They don't see any harm in it at first, and Donna never finds out."
"Charming," Slade commented.
"This goes on for several weeks," Nicky continued. "But by this time, Mike decides that he really likes Donna, and that he no longer wants to share with his brother. At the same time, she's getting sick of him – or rather, with Andrew, who is really just messing around."
"When we spoke to Donna, she mentioned that she nearly broke up with him," Slade said.
"Mike begged her for another chance," Holly nodded, remembering Donna's words.
"Right," Nicky said. "And at the same time he had to persuade his brother, Andrew to back off. Andrew didn't take this very well, and according to Mike, things turned pretty sour between them. But conveniently, Andrew was failing his course and he ended up transferring back to a university in the States. So Mike was free to be with Donna and everything seemed fine."
"Except it wasn't?" Slade ventured.
"Not for Andrew," Nicky continued. "He goes back home but nothing really goes right for him after that. Then Mike refuses to bail out Andrew when a business he owns gets investigated for tax fraud, and they end contact with each other for good. But somehow, Andrew found out that Mike was due to marry Donna and he followed him to the hotel last night."
"But why? To kill Mike?" Slade asked.
"That part isn't clear," Nicky told him. "But when Mike arrived back at his room, Andrew was waiting for him, and he'd been drinking. He accused Mike of stealing his girlfriend all those years ago and the two got into a fight."
"But there was no sign of a struggle," Holly pointed out.
"It was apparently very quick. The next thing Mike knew, they were out on the balcony and in the tussle, Andrew went over the edge."
"And Mike ran," Slade nodded, remembering the haste in which they'd seen him leave the hotel room.
"When he realised his brother was dead, he panicked," Nicky said. "He ran, but he didn't get very far."
"Because of Donna," Holly said.
Nicky nodded.
"He couldn't bear the thought that she would believe he was dead. And he knew if they were to have any chance of a future together, he would have to tell the truth."
A couple of hours later, Slade and Holly had left the office and were walking towards the wine bar; these days, their day together rarely ended when they left the office.
"So what do you think Donna will do?" Slade asked.
Holly sighed.
"I don't know. There's so much to consider – the deception at the start, Mike's continued lie about his brother. This was a man she thought she could trust completely."
"Yeah, but however it all started back then, it's obvious how Mike feels about Donna now. That's the truth."
Holly seemed to be considering this.
"Maybe, but on top of everything, she probably feels like an idiot for being taken in by Mike and Andrew," she said.
"Yeah, but that was in the beginning, before she really knew Mike like she does now. I mean, you said you'd have no problem picking me out from a line of impostors..."
Slade slid Holly a glance. She looked up at him as they walked.
"Slade, I hope you're not telling me you've got an identical twin, and you're blaming him for all of the times you've got us into trouble?"
Slade grinned.
"No," he replied. "But I wish I'd thought of that."
They were now on the same street as the wine bar, but Holly stopped short.
"It might explain one thing," she said.
"What's that?" he asked, frowning.
Immediately, Holly blushed and glanced towards the floor.
"Never mind," she said. "It's nothing."
"No, what is it?"
"It's just...the other night, when we left the bar...what was that?"
Slade could see how awkward Holly was finding it to even broach the subject. But now she'd opened that particular door, there was no way it could be closed again – and anyway, that was the last thing he wanted.
"What? You mean this?"
He took hold of her hand, feeling her fingers immediately lace with his.
"This," he smiled. "Was me trying to ask you something I haven't so far had the guts to."
"What's that?"
A small smile was playing on her lips.
"Well, I was hoping you might have given me the answer," he replied. "In the hotel corridor. Unless that was just Mrs Wilson kissing her new husband..."
Holly was blushing fiercely now, but her smile told him that he had not overstepped the mark.
"So..." he continued, drawing Holly closer to his side. "Shall we see if that bar's got any alcoves?"
"We could," Holly replied. "Although I'm fairly sure we can find one or two back at my flat".
Slade felt the grin spread across his face, as his heart rate started to build. Suddenly, Holly's flat seemed an awful long way away.
"I think I'm going to need one for the road," he said.
Before Holly had the chance to answer, Slade took her face in his hand and kissed her, immediately revelling in the sensation once again of her lips against his. He felt her hand reach up to his shoulder, anchoring them there as she deepened the kiss. Eventually, they broke apart, and Slade took Holly's hand again as they made their way back to Sundown Court.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like it if there was two of me?" Slade asked, nudging her hip with his.
Holly glanced across at him, before looking straight ahead, a smile starting to form.
"We'll see."
THE END