Authors: Garrett Addison
Chapter - 67.
Conrad periodically looked at Devlin and Detective Reymond
seated on his couch, looking uncomfortable. The seat itself was comfortable
enough, but it was a two seater and invariably better suited to a couple than
two heterosexual men thinking about a problem. Periodically, each would sit
forward in an effort to increase their inter-personal space, but that didn’t
really allow them to speak face to face. Eventually, Devlin dealt with the
matter by standing. The greater problem of the lists and updated matrices
represented remained.
The lists spoke for themselves, but didn’t actually say
much. The addition of the flashing, as Devlin suggested, added clarity, but it
didn’t help. The larger the list of names, the greater the volume of flashing
names.
Conrad printed off multiple copies of each list and handed
them out so as to enable the others to make whatever sense was possible for
themselves. Forever the technocrat, Conrad himself tried to code an algorithm
which he was sure would be both simpler and more conclusive than what would be
possible with three sets of eyes.
“I’m tempted to leave with what I’ve got,” said Detective
Reymond. It was late and his tone was deflated. “I’m impressed of course, but
maybe I’m better off returning to the station and doing my research in a
familiar environment.”
“There’s nothing at the station that I can’t access here,”
Conrad said as he typed. It was true, but he was wary about drawing too much attention
to the point. He hoped that the Detective might accept it, which might give
him a little more time to subtly ask him to overlook the thirty five system
access violations that he’d witnessed in the name of an un-authorised ‘fishing
trip’. If the Detective walked out the door now, he felt that his future would
walk with him.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Devlin said, much to Conrad’s
relief, hopeful. “I can do better research than you can at LastGasp’.”
“I disagree,” said Conrad, a little offended.
“This isn’t a pissing contest,” Devlin announced. “The
messages are only part of LastGasp’. There’s a whole Research Interface
specifically designed to identify people.” Devlin terminated any ensuing
discussion by standing and heading for the door. He paused with his back to
the others, “I need a lift, Detective.”
Chapter - 68.
Devlin left the Detective at the LastGasp’ door and went
inside. He half expected him to follow or try the ‘foot in the door’ thing,
but the Detective seemed to take it in his stride, advertising the fact that
he’d be waiting. He assumed that the Detective meant it to convince of his
commitment, but only as he walked towards the kitchen did it occur to him that
it could just as easily have been meant to intimidate.
The kitchen and lounge were empty and Devlin proceeded
directly to the bunker. He launched straight into the Research Interface and
started working through the list of names. It wasn’t late and there was no
real urgency, even with the prospect of the Detective waiting outside, but
still he felt pressured to complete his research quickly. He tried to keep a
cursory eye on the security monitors on the wall, hopeful that he would be able
to avoid the appearance of secrecy if Glen or anyone else returned, but doing
so only further exacerbated his stress.
Page after page of personal information flashed past as he
read as quickly as possible. The first ten minutes made for interesting
reading, much like the first few minutes of reading messages, but the rest was
substantially less so. Devlin exhausted his list of names and associated
perusal of their information without finding what he was looking for. ‘
It’s
hopeless
’, he thought as he rested his head on his forearms on the desk.
He wondered if Conrad would have any more luck, or if Malcolm would be back to
taunt him. The thought made him think of the task he’d set Conrad, sure as he
was that commonality between the names would reveal all.
It occurred to him that LastGasp’ was sure to have access
to the same data that Conrad was accessing, which meant that for all of
Conrad’s suspicion, he was just as capable as Glen. Using the Research
Interface for the same task was worth a try. He tried a selection of the most
recent names on the list and there was a delay in a response from the Research
Interface, but eventually it returned a single name. Tania Wilson.
It took a moment for Devlin to register the name, and
still longer for him to contemplate what it meant. He’d expected the name of a
reader, or Glen, and he felt some disappointment accordingly. He tried to ring
Conrad to share his findings, but the phone reception in the bunker hadn’t
changed in his absence. He decided to head for the kitchen, possibly just as a
temporary staging area for his departure. He marched along the corridor,
checking his phone for some visual indication that he would be able to call.
He knew he could just as easily head outside where the Detective would be
waiting, but for the time being he was comfortable with maintaining the
distance that a phone call would provide.
“I ask only one thing, Devlin,” Glen revealed his presence
in one of the armchairs, aware that he was yet to be noticed. As ever, he
didn’t look directly at Devlin as he spoke.
Devlin couldn’t help but be a little surprised, and he
knew that it showed. In his fixation in the bunker he had forgotten to watch
the monitors, and while Glen didn’t look like he’d employed any stealth to
enter the building, Devlin felt for how his surprise would be perceived. “I
didn’t see you come in.”
“I ask only one thing,” Glen repeated himself. “I ask
only that you don’t interfere with what you don’t understand.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means only that,” Glen replied solemnly. “I know
you’ve met with Malcolm. Just don’t interfere with what he’s doing.”
“Interfere with what? I’m actually interested in Tania,
and why she would come up in your Research Interface.”
“Just don’t interfere.”
That Glen didn’t question who ‘Tania’ was spoke volumes.
“So who’s Tania?”
“Perhaps she’s Malcolm’s acquaintance.”
“So what does Malcolm have to do with her?”
“Possibly nothing. I’m not his keeper?”
“Bullshit!”
“Bullshit nothing. I have no control over him and he does
as he sees fit.” Glen took a deep breath, as if to begin talking, but he
remained silent. “Take a seat Devlin,” Glen said as he patted the arm of the
adjacent armchair.
Devlin sat as instructed, fidgeting with his phone and
tapping his fingers on his chair arms while Glen watched a number of the
assembled televisions simultaneously. Eventually, Devlin too started to watch,
his eyes darting between the screens. The evening programming presented a
cross section of news and current affairs, to sit-coms and game shows.
Scanning the various channels wasn’t relaxing, but Devlin was oddly appreciative
for the distraction.
“Tell me what you see, Devlin.”
“I see crap. I don’t see how you can take any of this
in!”
Glen largely ignored the comment. “I see potential
Malcolms
everywhere. But there’s only been one. Others like him are hard to find.”
“I found him without any problem at all!”
“Technically, he found you.”
Glen was right. It was a point that Devlin had
overlooked, and while his initial reaction was to argue the poignancy of the
difference, he decided against it and kept quiet.
“Malcolm is ...” Glen paused, as if deliberating his
choice of words carefully, but couldn’t, didn’t finish. After a few moments,
he tried again. “Malcolm’s a friend.”
“If he’s a friend, why don’t you introduce us?”
“What’s to introduce? You’ve met him. Say what’s on your
mind, Devlin.”
“I just want to know what’s going on.”
“So does that mean that you’re concerned for yourself or
others?”
“Does
that
matter?” Devlin enquired.
“It means a great deal.”
“A bit of both probably. I’m concerned for Ikel, but I’d
be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned for myself too.”
“Have you done anything wrong?”
“No.” Devlin was proud that he’d replied quickly, knowing
that it would surely represent honesty, or perhaps denial, but in either case
it would represent conviction.
Glen shrugged off the reply and kept watching the
televisions. Devlin watched a full commercial break on two different channels
before he felt that Glen was going to say anything. “I don’t know where Ikel
is, so I can’t help you on that front. Perhaps your Detective friend might be
a better help.”
“And Malcolm?”
“And what?”
Devlin felt his frustration rise as he tried to determine
whether Glen was being deliberately annoying, or just playful. The net effect
was the same.
“I’m not going to tell you anything about Malcolm or
Tania.”
“I just don’t want to be like the rest of your readers,
Glen.”
“You’re not like them Devlin, that’s why you’re here,”
Glen offered some consolation. “Give me a name, and I’ll tell you why you
aren’t like them.”
Seizing the opportunity, Devlin fumbled for his list of
readers, but began with the first name from the top of his head rather than the
listed sequence. “OK, Casey. I can’t remember his surname.”
“Lawrence. Casey Lawrence. But I’ve got a better idea.
How about you start with Keegan Kirkby.”
“Why him?” Devlin scanned the list, but the name wasn’t
even listed. “Actually, who’s he?
Was
he?”
“He
was
my first real employee after Malcolm, and
he
is
alive. Still.”
“So where is he, and why isn’t he listed?”
“The point is that it’s not a complete list of employees,
intentionally, and just because a few are not available for your interrogation
doesn’t mean they are all dead.”
“So what’s so special about him?”
“Nothing. He was a decidedly un-remarkable man. God
knows where he is now, or what he’s doing. He made sense of his life and
continued on his own path. You could end up like him.”
“So why did he leave? Money?”
“There are limits to wealth.”
Devlin felt no obligation to argue, opting to move on. “Alright,
who’s next?”
Glen turned off one of the televisions. Casey Lawrence.
He’s on your list.”
“What’s his story?”
“He had to go. You wanted to know why I did my homework
on you before I offered you a job? Blame Casey.”
“So what did you do to him?”
“Spare me your accusations. He made some bad choices.
Check with your Detective, again, as I know you must have already. Next I’ll
tell you about Alun Boyle and Leon Newman,” Glen turned off another two of the
televisions. “I had high hopes for both of them. I figured them for their
commitment to the law and doing the right thing, and they didn’t disappoint.”
“So where are they now?” Devlin asked as he scanned the
list.
“They found the waiting difficult.”
“Waiting for what?”
“They thought more would happen, and when it didn’t … they
reacted.”
“What happened?”
“Alun was clearly disappointed with my protocols and thought
he could do better.”
“And got LastGasp’ un-necessary attention. Right?”
“He wasn’t that blatant. He just figured that he’d pass
on information, sit back and be the better for his role in making things
happen.”
“Sounds fair.”
“You know I understand people better than most, and
certainly better than Alun. He
thought
that if people knew, then things
would change. The reality was that it didn’t. It saddened him, and he left.”
“So if they’re similar, why isn’t Leon dead too?”
“He and Alun, were similar, but in the end they were also
very different. Where Alun was committed to the law, Leon was more interested
in justice.”
“So where’s he?”
“Jail.”
Devlin gwarfed. “How does that work?”
“Leon described it as
activism
. Purists would have
called it
vigilantism
. You’d have to understand by now how it was, how
it is. You read messages, guilt in varying degrees and various strains and
sooner or later, in spite of the lack of identifying information, you’ll be
able to work out who the bastards are. Looking back, it was just a matter of
time before someone would want to do something about it themselves.”
“And he got caught,” Devlin pre-empted the story. “So how
did you and LastGasp’ not get implicated?”
“I’d like to say that good management kept LastGaspStore
clear, but it was largely luck. There was a like-minded Detective in the mix
in charge of the investigation. One who understood.”
“Albert?”
Glen nodded. “A good guess. He kept LastGaspStore free
of implications, but he couldn’t prevent Leon from going to jail. It cost
Albert all the favours he could call in, and forced him into professional
purgatory.
“Alun would have got himself into trouble in much the same
way eventually, but his exuberance was tempered somewhat when Leon got into
trouble. A different guilt is what killed him, but not before talking to
Conrad. Then I should tell you about Derrell.”
“Ikel told me that you actually shed a tear for Derrell.”
Glen turned off the entire bank of televisions. “You know
I’ve learnt a lot from the various readers that I’ve employed over the years.
Most importantly, I’ve learnt never to be surprised by people.”