Minions

by Addison, Garrett

  “When we all got back here, I remembered the note that I was supposed to give Lori and I gave it to her. It spooked her, we rushed to his room and the rest you know.”

  Reymond’s attention turned to Lori. “What did the note say?”

  “It was nothing really. You’re welcome to it.” She offered the note to the Detective, passing it across the table.

  “So who’s this Derrell?”

  “Derrell Kendrick. David knew him. I knew of him. I know he committed suicide and that he was a past employee of our company. Other than that, I know virtually nothing about the guy.”

  “So when did you last see him? David, that is. Alive,” Reymond broke eye contact with Lori only long enough to check the notes he’d been taking were legible.

  “Today at work. We work pretty closely together.”

  “So was he there at work all day?”

  “Yes, or at least he was there when I got there. I tend to get in later than the others generally, and David is, or was, routinely on the night shift.” Ikel smirked at mention of the night shift and Lori sighed in response at his immaturity. She offered an explanation for the benefit of the Detective. “We found out today that David was, well, using his time on the night shift on …”

  “Personal development,” Ikel said, trying to help.

  “I was going to say inappropriate activity at odds with our company ideals,” she scowled at Ikel. “That’s why he left, or was sacked.”

  Ikel took his cue from Reymond for his account. “I last saw him this afternoon. He and Glen had words and then he left, and I haven’t seen him since, other than the video. Dev’ rang me after they found him and I met them here.”

  “Glen who?”

  “Glen Scott. He’s our boss.”

  Reymond continued taking his notes, as if he knew the name but just needed to write it down. “What’s this video?”

  “Company internal security footage,” Lori answered quickly, as if considering herself the best to explain this appropriately, for all concerned. “We were shown it today by our boss. David breached our security rules. That’s all, but it’s a big deal in our work.”

  “Anyone got anything else to add?”

  There was silence at the table. Devlin watched as Reymond looked at everyone in turn and collectively, gauging what intangibles he could. He theorised as to what the Detective might be thinking, but he figured that they all looked just like people who’d just learned that a colleague had died, committed suicide. There was an obvious sadness among everyone and they all just sat silently, not really waiting for the Detective to go, not really waiting for anything.

  “I’ll be in touch if I need anything, and likewise, let me know if you think of anything else.” The Detective stood and exchanged business cards with the others, as a matter of routine. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he offered.

  Chapter - 36.

  Dinner that evening for the remaining trio from LastGasp’ was a quiet affair. The reminiscing about David had stopped and nothing filled the communication void except the silence. In many ways, Devlin reasoned, it was probably just like the drive home from a wake. The topic of conversation that did rise above the distant din of the kitchen was talk of the funeral and who, if anyone would need to contact David’s family. This in turn gave rise to speculation about what family David had, the answer to which no-one it seemed really knew. This sad fact further deflated the dinner mood as it reinforced the fact that ultimately no-one knew a great deal about David Yeardley.

  Devlin returned to his room substantially earlier than the previous evening. An early dinner following their meeting with the Police, and without the frivolity of pre-dinner drinks and lively mealtime conversation, he was in his room by 8pm, bored as hell by 8:10, and in bed but clearly unable to sleep by 8:30. He’d neglected to turn off his phone for the evening as suggested by Ikel.

  A steady stream of messages began to arrive, each marked by the familiar sounds, and punctuated by relative silence. With the receipt of the second, Devlin was summonsing the motivation to find his phone, but eleven messages had been received by the time he’d actually found it. He considered deleting them, as Lori and Ikel had suggested would become standard practice, but instead he opted to browse them. Curiosity was getting the better of him.

  The first few messages were familiar. He’d read the messages about Leon, Casey and Carson before and his thumbs instinctively pressed the key sequence on his phone keypad to delete each without any further consideration. The next two were similar, but new.

  Derrell Kendrick is dead.

  David Yeardley is now dead.

  This was hardly news, but it was disturbing nonetheless and Devlin pondered it for a moment before continuing with the rest of the messages. He knew that suicides invariably only ever made the media if it involved some celebrity or innocent bystanders. This begged the question of how the sender of the message could have learned of David’s death so quickly. It was reasonable that the cause of Derrell’s death would eventually make it to the public domain, but David’s death would not have even made it into a register in the morgue yet. Furthermore, Derrell had died some time ago, but until that afternoon he’d never received any message relating to him, and for that matter he was unaware that he’d actually died at all, let alone even existed, until Lori explained en-route to David’s room. He was perplexed as to why Conrad would wait until now to send a message relating to a long dead person. He continued reading.

  All readers.

  All dead.

  All suicides.

  All guilty.

  Too late for Ikel.

  Too late for you?

  Be sure you understand the greater good.

  Devlin considered phoning Ikel, but given that it was still only early evening he decided to visit him instead. He knew that personal contact was perhaps the only thing that would prevent a panic setting in completely. He burst through his door and bounded down the corridor to Ikel’s room.

  Ikel was dozing fully clothed on his bed when he was aroused by manic banging on his door. He opened the door and stood back as Devlin rushed in and frantically started looking for his phone. “What’s the problem?”

  “Where’s your phone?” Devlin asked desperately.

  “Beside the TV,” Ikel replied calmly, repeating his question, “What’s the go?”

  “I got more messages. Did you get them too?” He retrieved the phone and straight away looked to access his received messages.

  “I didn’t get any,” said Ikel, understanding Devlin’s frenzy. “If you’re still spooked by messages, why don’t you turn your ‘ken phone off?”

  “Has your phone been on the whole time?”

  “Yep. I ignored the messages you’re so spooked about for a while, and now I generally don’t get any that aren’t actually for me. Well, not very often anyway.” Ikel said, heading for his bar-fridge. “Can I get you something?”

  “And you haven’t deleted any?”

  “No. Not tonight anyway,” Ikel removed the cap from a bottle of beer and drank a long mouthful.

  “Why don’t you get those messages about Casey and co?”

  “Remember when you were little and scared of the bogey-man and your Dad would tell you to ignore him and he’d go away?” Ikel offered.

  Devlin could see where this was going. “I haven’t even had a chance to ignore them yet. Tonight I got twice as many as last night. You were mentioned in one of them and …”

  “Let me finish. I tried ignoring them, but they kept coming. Like you, I didn’t know who was sending them until Conrad said something. I had a bit of a chat to him about it, and amazingly the volume of messages I received dropped off. Admittedly, not straight away, but I guess he figured he was wasting his time. I would have preferred for them to stop completely, but that’s OK.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “Not much. But he got the picture just the same. He denied sending them of course. After last night, I figured he
was just giving you a quick burst and if they continued I’d just have another chat with him.”

  Devlin thought more about the message content. The fact that Ikel wasn’t interested in them had done wonders to reduce his concern, but not entirely.

  “What exactly did the message say?” Ikel asked, displaying only a modicum of interest.

  “That it was too late for you, and some crap about a greater good.” He offered his phone in case he wanted to see for himself, but Ikel shook his head, shunning the offer. “So what’s that all about?”

  Ikel sighed and stood up. “I might go and have another chat with Conrad.”

  “Thanks. But perhaps it’s my turn to speak with him.”

  Chapter - 37.

  Conrad Tran was alone in his home office when his phone rang. Devlin had been a little abrupt, but he was insistent on a meeting, and that suited Conrad perfectly. He was desperate to speak with Devlin, and now was as good as any other time. He knew he was onto something, and without a personal life, it didn’t really matter what time of the day they met. He tended to work a cyclic twenty hour day for weeks on end. This meant that periodically he slept the remaining four hours during daylight, or during the night, or whenever he tired to the point of exhaustion, without any regard for the normal hours kept by most of the population.

  Conrad rehearsed his big sell in anticipation of one more chance to impress Devlin. He knew the best time to approach Glen’s people was just after they’d joined. He knew that there had to be a purpose to Glen’s recruitment strategy, but he was still to work it out. There was no chance to intercept his potential recruits before they’d joined. However, just after they joined, they were still sceptical enough to challenge what they thought about anything, particularly what they thought about LastGasp’ and Glen. But, he’d blown it with Devlin. His one good opportunity was looking promising until Devlin got suspicious, upped and left. Ikel Donovan had been more physical in avoiding a meeting, but he’d hurt Conrad’s pride more than inflicting any lasting physical injury. Devlin, on the other hand, had just avoided him. There was hope with this one.

  I can’t blow this, Conrad thought as he tried his best to form his thoughts into something logical. He knew he was thinking erratically, invariably on par with his racing heart, the result of fatigue, excitement and way too much caffeine. To him, the result of his research was clear, irrefutable really, but so far he’d not managed to convince anyone to understand his theory and ultimately share his concerns. For whatever reason, they’d either been unwilling or unable to understand. It was true that it was just a theory, but with a little insider help he’d be able to convert theory to proof.

  It wouldn’t take Devlin long to arrive, particularly given the urgency in his tone, and until then he could do little more than tidy some of the filth that tended to accumulate in his home office. Long work days did not lend themselves to fastidious attention to housework, and had it not been for a weekly visit from his mother, he surely would have been naked for a lack of clothes and fighting off rats for sure. His mother had come from Vietnam after the war and assimilation into a new country had done nothing to dampen her cultural attachment to what was most definitely woman’s work, and a mother’s lot. But his mother was not due for a few days, and while he still had enough food and clothes, it was going to take a little while to make the place hospitable for guests. Worst case, Devlin would stay for a moment say his piece and leave soon after, without even coming inside. Best case, he’d listen and want to come inside to hear more. Conrad reasoned that there was no avoiding the need to tidy at least some of his home; the lounge for starters, on his own, for the first time in several years.

  * * *

  It would have been faster to catch a taxi, but Devlin figured that a walk would do him good. The streets weren’t the best, but they were lit adequately and nowhere near as bad as those behind LastGasp’. In any case, he was feeling brave and hyped from Ikel’s pep-talk primer before he left. If the truth be known, he needed the time to prepare what he needed to say and clarify what he needed to know. It didn’t take him long to travel the ten or so blocks to Conrad’s office as described on his business card. By the time he arrived, he knew what he needed to say.

  “I was hoping you’d call,” Conrad began as soon as he opened his door. “I’ve needed to speak to you.”

  “Me likewise. But first I want to talk about the messages,” Devlin prepared himself for a confrontation.

  Conrad smiled. “You know, Ikel accused me of sending the messages too. The guy even punched me when I told him I didn’t send them. But it wasn’t me.”

  “But you know about them?”

  “You work there, you get the messages. Others have told me about them.”

  “And they’re not from you?”

  “Nope. And to answer your next question, no, I don’t know who they’re from.”

  “You know that Ikel has received fewer messages since he spoke with you. With that in mind, wouldn’t you assume that you’d found the message sender?”

  “Maybe. But why the interest this late at night?”

  Devlin considered leaving it at that. After such a cold denial, it seemed fruitless to continue on the matter. Conrad’s face expressed honesty, and Devlin was certain that he was telling the truth. However, he was also mindful that Conrad had been surprisingly zealous in his efforts to make contact that day. “So what do you want to talk about?”

  “David’s dead,” Devlin began, pausing for effect and to gauge Conrad’s reaction. It was apparent that this was news to Conrad, evident in the way his shoulders sunk and his natural, perpetual smile dissipated into blankness.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I liked David. He was a nice guy.” Conrad rubbed his face with his hands. “When? How?”

  “Today. Lori and I found him in his room. Suicide.”

  Conrad focussed. “And David was mentioned a message?”

  “One of them. I received eleven messages tonight, and one of them mentioned David. Many of the other messages were ones I’d received before, that Casey and others were dead, and a series of new ones telling me that all the other readers were guilty and all suicided.”

  A spark returned to Conrad’s face, and he smiled. “Well that’s not true.” He leapt from his seat on an old armchair, and headed for a cluttered computer desk behind him. “Come and look at this.” He took his seat at his keyboard and began to click and type frenetically as he spoke. “I’ve had an interest in LastGasp’ for some time,” he began.

  “Professional or recreational interest?”

  Conrad stopped typing before answering. “I know what you’re asking. Technically, it’s ‘recreational’ in that I have no formal mandate to exploit any of my professional expertise or contacts in any related investigation. But it came up professionally enough.”

  “How so?”

  “Well. I was doing forensic technology assessments for the police when I noticed a pattern.” Conrad looked at Devlin, as if expecting to see puzzlement and his expectation was realised. “Forensic technology assessments are like a fishing expedition on the internet for anything about someone who’s died. Throw out a big net and see what gets caught. OK so far?” He looked for a nod from Devlin before continuing. “Anyway. I noticed technical interaction with LastGasp’ and did a little homework.”

  “Given what LastGasp’ does, I wouldn’t have thought that would surprise anyone. It seems reasonable an organisation that sends emails after someone dies would get implicated somewhere.”

  Conrad sighed. “That’s what the police said. That it was ‘reasonable interaction’, to use the official term. Without wanting to abuse my fishing analogy, we caught a common but inedible fish. So I moved on, but the same pattern came up, over and over.

  “I’m allowed a little latitude with my investigations, primarily because there’s nothing definitive in what I should be looking for, and so I kept at it. I sunk a lot of time into it, but then I had to move on.”

 
“So if you came up with nothing, why are we having this conversation?”

  “That’s not what I said. I moved on because I was told to move on. But I didn’t come up with nothing.” Conrad looked for roused interest in Devlin. “Look at this and tell me what you see.” He slid to his left slightly to allow Devlin a better view of the screen.

  “I see a web,” Devlin said, describing what he saw; a matrix of lines and coloured nodes randomly interconnected such that each node was joined to a variable number of adjacent and non-adjacent, disconnected nodes. “What am I looking at?”

  “You got it in one. It’s a contact matrix. The nodes represent people, and the lines represent contact between these people. It shows how potentially each of these people are known to each other, within a few degrees of separation anyway.”

  Devlin accepted what he was being told, but was cautious to give any indication as such, verbal or otherwise. “And?”

  “OK. The red dot in the middle represents Glen.” He used the mouse to point to the only node in the matrix coloured red. “The node colour represents an indication of the degrees of separation from the red node. You are one of the blue nodes, which one is not important at this point in your education.” Once again Conrad looked for cues of understanding before continuing. “What does this tell you?”

  “That Glen is known to me and a lot of others?”

  “Well, technically the matrix represents contact, so it doesn’t actually show that these people know Glen, but you’re on the right track.”

  “OK, so it shows that Glen is ‘influential’?”

  “Perfect! He’s an influential guy.”

  “And? I wouldn’t have thought that was too surprising given the volume of semi-solicited email LastGasp’ sends.”

  “Actually emails don’t count. In this context, the definition of contact is human to human interaction. So face to face is obviously in, as are phone calls. But emails are out, rightly or wrongly.”

  “But it still shows that Glen is influential. Right?”