Delete-Man: A Psychological Thriller

by Johnny Vineaux

  “Where do you get this data? It can’t be legal.”

  “You’re right, most of what you’re looking at there isn’t legal. That’s why I invited you here to show you. But nevertheless, information is information. It’s easily hidden, easily transferred, and the human element always brings weaknesses to any security.”

  “You have files like this on everyone in the country?”

  “Hah! That would be far too much work, even for me. No. We focus-test, employ psychologists, perform studies. There’s a lot of business to be made in information, Joe. It generates a lot of money, and that money goes back towards even more effective uses: Such as studying people in real life. It’s an important part of our philosophy at Mixed Sources. Case studies. You, and Josephine before you, were case studies. Good examples of demographics we needed more information regarding.”

  “What are you telling me all this for?”

  “It’s not a secret.”

  “That you intrude into people’s lives, trying to find out how you can manipulate them better?”

  She leant back into her seat, as if relaxing.

  “Let’s be honest, Joe. You don’t really care about any of this. Advertising, data, brands, magic beans; that’s not what interests you, is it? There’s only one reason you’ve done everything you have done, one question you wanted an answer to.”

  King stared at me with cold, serious eyes.

  “Did Josephine Baird kill herself, or was she murdered. That’s all you really want to know, isn’t it?”

  I rubbed my eyes and looked out into the slanted rain.

  “Yes.”

  “The truth is all there, Joe. In those files.”

  She pointed at a piece of paper I had shifted to the side.

  “That medical record to your left contains the tests performed on her corpse. They indicate that she did, indeed, die from an overdose, and that the prescription given to her was the same one she had been given several times previously this past year. Clipped behind it is her psychological profile, compiled from the files of Dr.Hughton and her previous psychiatrists. In it, you will see a history of bipolar depression, multiple references to suicidal tendencies, and even a record of a previous attempt.”

  I rubbed my eyes. King waited for a few moments then continued.

  “There should also be cctv images amongst those photos that track her movements throughout the day of her suicide. Her only excursion being a trip to the pharmacy, despite the fact she was meant to work that day at a dog shelter. After buying the medication, she returned straight home. We attained ISP records that say she browsed for forty-seven minutes on topics including overdoses and suicides, only an hour before her estimated time of death.

  “Monika, at this time, was working at a client’s house where she spent pretty much the entire day, until a presentation which took place at approximately seven in the evening. After the presentation she visited a bar with colleagues, and arrived home to find the body just after eleven.”

  I tried to speak but my throat was dry. I gazed at the sheets in front of me until they went blurry.

  “It’s not what you wanted to happen, but your girlfriend killed herself. It was her own decision, and she went through with it. That’s all there was to it.”

  “No.”

  It came out as a thin rasp.

  “Yes. I’m sorry, Joseph. You can’t delude yourself anymore. It’s right there in black and white.”

  My muscles shivered and turned to jelly. My throat burned, and I struggled to breath. Everything went hazy, my blood ran cold, and I collapsed onto the table.

  Chapter 25

  The knot I had carried in the pit of my stomach for weeks unravelled into a swirling tornado. Some part of me washed away with the violent colours and depths into a void. I lost all sense of time or space, a frightened speck of consciousness floating in nothingness. Faintly, I heard words spoken, broadcast from some other dimension.

  “Joe? Are you ok? Get some water, would you David.”

  For a brief second, I grasped and caught nothing, was invisible and powerless. Then, once again, resolution. Whatever I had become surged forward, awareness slamming back into my body, my muscles filling with tension once more, and the hard knot in the pit of my gut twisting me once again.

  “No,” I said, lifting my head up, “coffee.”

  King gave me a relieved smile.

  “How would you like it?”

  “Black. Hot.”

  McLeish nodded and left the room. There was almost a minute of silence in which Buzzcut and King watched me compose myself. The tension in the room was seceding.

  “Are you ok, Joseph?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It must be hard to deal with.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you understand now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.”

  Another long silence.

  “I’m sorry that it had to be like this, Joe.”

  “No, it’s ok. Thanks for the… you know.”

  “It’s fine. The truth will out eventually.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Now that it has, perhaps we can call a truce. Stop chasing each other and causing problems for one another. I can promise you, Joe, that none of our information on you will get out. So long as you leave my business and I alone. That’s fair, I think.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Great.”

  I fingered a passport photo of Josie, gazing at her hazel eyes. I heard a buzz and King checked her phone.

  “I’ll leave you alone a while. Clark, would you stay here with Joe? I’m just going downstairs for a cigarette and to make a phone call. I won’t be longer than ten minutes. Keep your eye on these documents. Don’t let anyone in and,” she leaned towards him and said quietly, “don’t let him out.”

  “Of course.”

  “Back in a moment.”

  She stood up, raised her bag to her shoulder, and left the room. Buzzcut looked at me then relaxed, leaning back into his chair and stretching out his legs. I shifted the papers around in front of me. There was a brief, light, knock on the door, then it opened and McLeish stepped inside.

  “Got your coffee here, Joe.”

  I stood up to take it from him.

  “Thanks.”

  I took off the lid, breathed in the hot, bitter aroma, then threw the liquid into Buzzcut’s face.

  “Argh!”

  He grasped his face and shook violently as the coffee burned into his skin. I dropped the cup, lifted my foot, and planted it deep into McLeish’s gut. He fell backwards, doubled over. I stumbled forward and kicked him in the face.

  Buzzcut screamed. He leant forward and I whipped my hand around to smack him hard on the back of his head, sending his face to crunch against the table. He screamed even louder, waving his arms around trying to grab me, but unable to open his eyes or compose himself.

  I leapt towards the end of the table and snatched up the folder King had flicked through in front of me: Josie’s book. I took one last look at Buzzcut, still hunched over the table, trying to dry himself with his shirt, and McLeish, clutching his gut and whimpering slightly on the floor, then I left.

  I had only walked a few paces down the corridor when someone wearing a uniform stopped me.

  “What’s going on in there?”

  “Two guys are going mad in there. One guy threw hot coffee over another, and then the other guy kicked him in the stomach. You need to do something, they’re losing it.”

  The security guard grabbed his microphone and spoke into it hurriedly as he took long strides towards the conference room. I ran in the opposite direction, looking for the elevator.

  As the elevator descended smoothly, I elbowed some space and managed to check the file I had taken. It was Josie’s book alright, except nearly three times as large as the section I had read. Images, photos, list of names, companies, dates, and records. I checked the contents:

  Part 1: Overview


  Part 2: Analysis

  Part 3: Solutions

  Part 4: Evidence

  Taped to the inside of the file was a usb stick. I ripped it off and pocketed it just before the lift came to a gentle stop on the ground floor. Bursting out into the lobby I weaved forward between the businessmen and women leaving work for the day. I caught sight of King, standing near the glass, taking shelter from the rain under the entrance’s canopy; phone to her ear, and a cigarette in the other hand. I surged forward, blood thumping in my ears. Somebody walked across me and I stumbled forward to the floor. They let out a scream and King turned. She saw me getting to my feet and there was a second’s unbelieving hesitation in her face before she dropped her cigarette and ran. My foot eventually gripped the shiny, wet floor and I barged through the crowd filling the entrance and out into the cold, whipped rain.

  King was slow, and the dense rain made the ground too wet for her heels to get any real traction on. But my body was failing too, muscles firing and loosening at random, my left leg stiffening at every push and weakening with every impact. I pushed through the crowd, trying not to lose sight of her. I saw her stumble and pushed myself harder, gaining ground fast.

  She ran out into the street, almost jumping in front of a black cab. I staggered off the pavement and leapt towards her, feet away. She opened the cab door just as I reached out to grab her, realising only at the last moment that I was still clutching the file. My arm clattered against the side of the door, causing me to fall into it just as King slammed it shut.

  The wheels screeched, splashing me with dirty puddle-water as the cab pulled away. I crumbled to the gutter, shouts and car horns fizzing around me. I was wet through, and my body had reached its limit. I clutched the file tightly and somehow felt warmer.

  I emerged from the train station and stopped at a nearby cash machine, withdrawing all the money I had in my account. I would take Vicky away. Not even pack. A completely fresh start somewhere else. Maybe Brighton, or Devon. One of those places that had space, and was quiet. Somewhere there wasn’t any distractions. Maybe even somewhere abroad. Learn a new language and eat different food. That way there wouldn’t be so many memories. Maybe. I’d send the book back to Abdi, get him to print off some copies, get its message out there somehow, and forget about it. Concentrate on Vicky, just like I should have done. Let her grow older however she wanted to. Someplace I needn’t worry.

  My body ached and stung as I entered the lift. I picked out the bottle of painkillers and opened the cap, changing my mind at the very last second and dropping it instead. It fell with a clatter on the lift’s metal floor, the pills spraying out of the bottle.

  The doors opened and I stepped outside, falling to my knees. After a second to catch my breath I pulled myself up. Still clutching the file, I leant against the wall with my forearm and made my way to the door. I instinctually felt for my keys then realised I had left the door open.

  I pushed the door and saw several policemen standing inside the living room. I walked towards them.

  “What’s all this?”

  “Joseph Williamson?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m Detective Constable Peters. I’m arresting you on charges of arson, breaking and entering, grievous bodily harm, assault, burglary, harbouring a minor illegally, and tax fraud. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  Another, younger officer, advanced towards me with cuffs. He pulled the file out of my grasp and threw it onto the table.

  “Give me your other arm.”

  “I’ve only got one arm.”

  He shifted his eyes between my sides for a few full seconds before looking at Peters, confused.

  “Where is Vicky? Is she here? She’s at school. I have to pick her up. You’ve got to let me see her one more time.”

  Peters looked at me then nodded his head somewhere behind me. I turned and saw a short woman with glasses and long, straight brown hair.

  “Hi, Joseph. I’m Jennifer Thornby from the child protection agency. Vicky’s absolutely fine. She’s going to be taken care of wonderfully.”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Jennifer Thornby, child protection agency.”

  “Child protection? You’re gonna take Vicky away?”

  “I understand you’re upset, but depending on your sentencing and—”

  “Oh fuck this. Fuck this. This is not happening.”

  “Calm down, Joseph.”

  “Don’t you— Oh shit. I don’t believe this. Vicky. No. No no no. This is wrong.”

  “Joseph nothing is certain at the present moment.”

  “Where is Vicky now?”

  “We have an agent waiting for her at the school. She’ll be picked up and treated very well.”

  “Oh fuck no. I got to see her. You can’t do that without letting me see her.”

  My knees went weak, and I was about to fall before the officer with cuffs extended an arm and held me up.

  “Call in and get a doctor to meet us at the station.”

  I looked at Peters, then at Jennifer.

  “I don’t be—how?”

  I strained and pushed and managed to stand fully again.

  “Shit. No. Can I just, get some fresh air? I’m feeling a bit…”

  Peters looked at the young officer and nodded sympathetically.

  “Two minutes.”

  He let me go and I staggered out through the open balcony door. I leant out over it, scanning the dark, foggy skyline, then the myriad of balconies around mine. Above and below. I felt a drop and raised my face to the sky. I remembered the dreams.

  I took one last look behind me, at Peters, Jennifer, the young officer with cuffs, and the wet, battered file on the table. I put my hand on the balcony rail, and with the last bit of strength from my body leapt over it. Reaching out my hand, just as I had done in the dream, hoping that something would save me.