“But …”
“First question,” Whitely began, interrupting. “Where does Glen live?”
Devlin accepted that the question was a little odd, but he gave Whitely some latitude. “I’m pretty sure he lives on the top floor of LastGasp’, or at least a room there somewhere. I don’t rightly know really. From all accounts he doesn’t sleep much anyway.”
“Next question. Where and when did you meet him?”
Again, Devlin marvelled at why Whitely considered these mundane questions to be necessary. “I met him on a train, a few days ago. We started talking, he gave me his card, and later that day I called him and he offered me a job.”
“Interesting,” Whitely replied succinctly, disinterested. He took up his remote control but stopped short of using it. “One more thing, Devlin. Only knowledge comes with death’s release. Don’t confuse knowledge with truth. Remember that.”
Devlin couldn’t help raising an eyebrow at the obscurity of the comment.
“Goodbye, Devlin.” Whitely turned on the television and started cycling through the channels. As a final parting gesture, he farted.
Devlin took the hint. He navigated his way through the dark corridor and into the bright sunshine.
Only after his first breaths of fresh air did he realise just how bad Whitely’s home, his living room in particular, actually smelled. On entry, his many breaths walking slowly along the hallway had gradually introduced him to the pungency, but with his faster exit, the freshness of the dew heavy air was all the more noticeable. He scratched his hair sub-consciously just thinking about the way Whitely lived.
Chapter - 42.
At the first traffic light, Devlin checked the glove-compartment and console for some air freshener. He still had a bad taste in his mouth from Whitely’s house and while he knew that it would pass, he wasn’t prepared to wait. The odour in Ikel’s car was nowhere near as over-powering as he remembered, in comparison at least, but surely Ikel would have something. He found some car deodorant and sprayed it liberally on both the car interior and himself.
He reached for Glen’s list looking for the next ex-employee to visit. Whitely’s words about the limited value of visiting the others were loud in his mind, and he lost interest in any other impromptu visits. He pondered the rest of what Whitely had said, and in particular, he thought about his last questions. Even in hindsight, the questions were pointless. Whitely clearly had a long history with Glen, and as he rarely, if ever, ventured out of the house, then surely he was beyond the need for the mundane banter that Devlin’s answers clearly constituted. Unless, he thought, Whitely was genuinely interested in what he’d said, despite his apparent disinterest. He thought over his replies again, obsessing that it was he who’d missed the point. The traffic light changed and in an instant Devlin had an epiphany. Whitely had asked the questions not for himself, but instead to subtly make a point. If Glen lived and worked at LastGasp’, then why would he be on a morning suburban peak hour train? Devlin suddenly doubted that their meeting was purely one of chance.
Five minutes passed, then ten and Devlin was no closer to being able to understand either what was happening or why it was happening. Most importantly, he couldn’t understand where he himself fitted into the situation. He tried to consider himself as just a casual passer-by, and one who could easily move on and forget about it all. Whether he was willing to turn his back on the money, legal money, on offer from Glen was another matter entirely. Whether he fully understood why or not, deep down he knew that he was involved in some way. More importantly, the messages that he’d been sent, conceivably from his stolen phone, and the information from Conrad told him enough to know that he couldn’t walk away.
Devlin started to fidget, anxious for his own well-being. He considered his options, superficially at first, and then with increasing granularity, weighing up the potential upside and downsides of each. Leaving LastGasp’, possibly without a word to anyone, was a very reasonable option. If he was truly that fearful, then it was possibly the only option. However, the fact that he had nothing definitive to actually be fearful of made him look further into other courses of action. His concerns were logical, but only circumstantially. The messages themselves meant nothing, but suggested a great deal. The death of David and possibly others did not constitute a legitimate threat to himself, particularly when he was still to confirm anything that Conrad had said. For all he knew, he could well have been played by Conrad, and Whitely, and even Glen for that matter. Being honest with himself, he knew that he was prepared to discount this avenue because of his reluctance to leave LastGasp’, but he was content just to have identified it as an option.
He felt the minutes drag on as he deliberated his choices.
Chapter - 43.
Devlin described his actions as ‘selectively indecisive’. He couldn’t decide what to do, so he undermined his own thought process, added a new option and ran with it. He opted to ignore his current concerns, do nothing and return to work. He took a roundabout route, concentrating on the banal banter of some talkback radio station, ever hopeful that he’d think of a solution as soon as he relaxed. No such solution occurred to him; he was unable to truly relax.
Pulling into the laneway behind LastGasp’, Devlin saw Lori talking with Albert outside the car-park. They stopped talking when seen, and just stood awaiting Ikel’s car to pull in. Lori showed no surprise that Ikel was not the driver, so Devlin accepted that they’d been talking for some time and Albert had told her of his dawn expedition. Devlin parked and quickly got out of the car-park, holding his breath from the moment he turned off the ignition until he joined the others away from the smell.
“Find out what you needed?” Lori asked.
“Not really. I just wanted to meet some other readers.”
“Why the fuck would you want to do that?” asked Albert abruptly.
“What ‘Bert here means is, why?” Lori softened the same question.
“I’m still getting the messages, and I’m still more than a little stressed over it. I asked Glen about past readers and he suggested that I go and meet a few.”
“Who’d you see?” Albert asked, interested.
“I had the whole list and I had to start somewhere, and Glen suggested to start with Whitely. I can’t remember his surname.”
“Mason. Whitely Mason,” Lori grimaced subtly at Albert. “I didn’t think he was still alive.”
“He is. Of sorts.” Devlin considered how the definition of ‘alive’ could be equally both applicable and inapplicable, but he didn’t digress. “Anyway. I met him hoping that my concerns would be put to rest, but I left there wondering if I’d be in Whitely’s shoes down the track some time. And as a parting gesture, he sent me off with a little riddle that made me wonder if me joining LastGasp’ wasn’t entirely the result of a chance encounter with Glen on a train.”
Devlin felt relief. Nothing had changed, but he felt different. He waited for wise words to flow in reply, but none came. Devlin appreciated that there was truth, but certainly not the whole truth, in his concerns. “Who’s Malcolm Venn?”
Lori didn’t avoid the question. “This isn’t the thing that we should discuss here.” She looked to Albert for his concurrence.
“Does this mean you want to discuss it with Glen too?”
“Unlikely,” grunted Albert.
“I’d prefer not, and I don’t want to talk about it with Albert. He understands.”
“I’ll be here later if I can help,” Albert commented with resignation. He returned to his seat in the car-park, leaving Lori and Devlin to walk off, but not in the direction of LastGasp’.
Devlin allowed himself to be casually led by Lori out of the laneway and onto the main strip, past cafés with mid-morning hyperactivity, and evening venues cleaning up from the night before. Eventually, Lori checked over her shoulder and stepped into a non-descript coffee shop long overdue for renewal or refurbishment. She chose a table partially hidden from the street and ordered
two lattés without even confirming Devlin’s preference. He took his seat.
“I’ve never met Malcolm. But I’ve heard about him too,” Lori launched into what she had to say. “For the record, I’d like to meet him, along with everyone else who’d like to meet him.”
“Is that it? We came here for you to just say you’ve heard of him? So who is he then?”
Lori shrugged. “Malcolm is everyone, and no-one. Of course Malcolm isn’t his real name. That would be too easy.”
“So what’s the big deal about him then?”
The coffees she ordered arrived, and for a while Lori seized the opportunity to avoid the question. Eventually, she started to speak, though not to answer directly. “I’ve been with LastGasp’ a lot longer than you. I’ve not done anything wrong.”
“I wasn’t accusing you.”
“The name ‘Malcolm Venn’ came up in conversation with Albert a few weeks ago. It was just a passing comment. ‘Bert knows what goes on at LastGasp’, and we were just talking about being able to identify people. I told him sometimes people mention names, and there’s a protocol for any mention of names.” The noise of a siren from the street interrupted them, and they both drank more of their coffees until the wail died down. “He asked if the name ‘Malcolm Venn’ ever came up. And it hadn’t.”
“Hadn’t or hasn’t?”
“Hadn’t.”
Chapter - 44.
Suicides are not like lightning, Detective Reymond theorised as he crossed the parquet flooring of the hotel he’d left a little over twelve hours previously. Everyone knew the cliché that lightning never strikes twice in the same location, and generally speaking his experience had proven this to be true. However, his experience with lightning was decidedly limited, whereas suicides were a different matter. Not only was it conceivable, and probable, that multiple suicides could occur at the same place, but his experience in this subject was considerable.
The suggestion by the manager the previous day that there had been another suicide there at the hotel had kept Reymond awake at night, and first thing in the morning he’d done some background checks. There had been a number of incidents at the hotel, not an unreasonably high number for a hotel, or enough to make him immediately reconsider his assessment of suicide, but enough to force his due diligence to investigate further. The more he looked, the more he recognised anomalies that, in all reality, should have been identified earlier. If this hotel had always been part of his patch, he would have picked up on the peculiarities immediately, but incessant jurisdictional changes meant that technically the hotel had slipped in and out of his patch.
It was an easy thing to miss, Reymond sub-consciously defended his predecessor, but it didn’t work. Multiple suicides, same location, and same floor that the hotel manager had described as being for longer term residents. Questions needed to be asked then, and still need to be asked. He had to start somewhere and he decided to start with the hotel manager he’d met the day before.
* * *
The hotel manager was helpful. He made available everything that was at his disposal, including the security footage, and also that which was not legally his to share, including guest registers.
Reymond noted the guests whose billing was met by David Yeardley’s employer. With each name, the hotel manager shared whatever he could remember of them in an effort to help. While they all stayed on the same floor without security video, access to their floor was still subject to surveillance. Reymond scanned the footage of the previous day, slowing the fast playback to see individual faces before returning to the animation of real time being played extra fast. With each face, the hotel manager would share a commentary. He saw Ikel and Devlin’s near dawn departure and also Lori returning to the hotel lobby at a more reasonable time. He watched David return, just as the others had described, followed not long after by Devlin. When Reymond saw Malcolm Venn on the screen, he paused the playback.
The hotel manager continued his commentary unabated. “Sam Burbino. He was a guest here some time ago, but he periodically visits.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure that he visits? Yes, he’s a regular. I’ve known him to have a coffee with many of the guests.”
“But you’re sure of his name? When I met him recently he called himself ‘Malcolm Venn’.”
“Never heard of him by that name, but it’s definitely him.”
“Dammit,” Reymond mumbled as he scribbled in his notebook.
Chapter - 45.
Nebojsa Kendic was in the clear. He knew from the moment he woke that lay time was over, and he responded with his usual fervour. Yesterday, he’d been on his best behaviour when lay time began, but as the hours passed, his confidence had evolved into arrogance, and by the end of the day he’d drawn the attention of sycophants and superiors alike, all wanting to share in his presence. By early evening he knew that Angie was going to keep her mouth shut. She wasn’t a good girl, but she’d proven herself to be a smart one.
Sleeping alone was a fact of life for Nebojsa, though this suited him just fine. He got all the sex he wanted, and having space between the sheets for him to sleep was hardly a difficult price to pay. But lay time was always a difficult time, not because he’d miss the solace of companionship during a time of stress, but rather he was denied his usual outlet. What made the end of lay-time particularly bad was that he’d be so aroused by his own confidence that sleeping was impossible. Even during yesterday’s lay time he’d shunned advances by several female colleagues purely because this was a rule, a line that should never be crossed. He didn’t shit where he worked. Despite the offers, he resigned himself to the necessity to take several whores for the evening. This he’d done, and sent them on their way before ordering a pizza. He was in bed by midnight, alone once more, and appreciative that the prostitutes had served their purpose and earned their pay. He’d lain awake marvelling at how common women-for-hire could reasonably be expected to keep their mouths shut. If only all of his acquaintances could be this trustworthy.
However, this lay-time was different. He sensed it from the moment that he learnt that Angie had been admitted to hospital. Others in her situation had allowed themselves to die, but not Angie; she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. It was a testament to her really. He decided to send her some flowers.
Chapter - 46.
Devlin was now more confused as to his next course of action. Lori had apparently passed on everything she knew about Malcolm, but this amounted to little more than the fact that the LastGasp’ Research Interface hadn’t helped. She either didn’t know or didn’t share who he was. All she said was that there appeared to be an ever increasing list of people interested in finding him, regardless of whether they confessed their reasons. Devlin was too distracted to press her to explain how she came to know of the others apparently looking for this Malcolm guy.
“So if you know nothing about him, this Malcolm, why didn’t you say so in front of Albert?”
“Albert is another matter,” Lori began. “I asked Glen about Malcolm, largely as a favour to Albert.”
“And?”
“And nothing. He just kept watching TV like he does.”
“So?”
“But then he gave me a newspaper article.” Lori fumbled in her handbag and produced a newspaper clipping.
Under the pretence that newspaper headlines get smaller and less impressive the further from the front page, Devlin gathered that this was not a particularly important headline. ‘Moonlighting Policeman Likely to Recover’.
Lori added a commentary as Devlin read. “It’s about Albert. He’s a Policeman, or at least he was. He was working after hours as a security guard babysitting a chemicals storage facility when there was a fire, some explosion. He came out of it relatively lightly. Some scarring, moderate respiratory damage and a totally destroyed sense of smell, thanks to Chlorine gas exposure at the scene of the incident. He’s still better off than another guy who didn’t survive the blast.”<
br />
“That explains a lot,” Devlin mumbled as he read. Actually it explained very little, except to justify his periodic coughing fits and answer the question why Albert would tolerate the smell of the car-park.
“That article was dated a few years ago.”
“So Albert left the Police force, lost his way and became a derelict pseudo-security guard for LastGasp’. I’d hate to think that he’d let himself go so quickly if it was any more recent.”
“Quite,” Lori ignored the quip. “Glen refused to talk about the article. All he said was that ‘I’d work it out’.”
“That sounds like Glen.”
“Well yes, it’s very much his style. He likes for people to discover things for themselves, but you’re missing the point. I traced the details of the accident, if that’s what it was, through the details in the paper. I found the incident site, and other miscellaneous details. That much was easy.”
“And?”
“And nothing. The story disappeared from print very quickly, hidden with interest rate concerns and the rising cost of oil. The Police lost interest remarkably quickly and needless to say that no-one saw justice over it.”
“So what does this mean?”
“I don’t know.” Lori sighed. “What I do know though is that the guy did actually die. I met his widow and children and I recognised genuine loss in each of their eyes.”
“Sad of course, but I don’t see how this affects me, Albert, Glen, or LastGasp’ for that matter.”
“I don’t understand it either,” Lori conceded.
Chapter - 47.
Devlin returned to LastGasp’ with Lori. For a new employee determined to prove his worth, he felt more than a little guilty about the fact it was now after lunch and he hadn’t done any real work. He felt obliged to head straight to the bunker, saying only passing greetings to Glen in the sitting room engrossed in the bank of televisions, ambivalent but not oblivious, as they joined Ikel in the bunker.
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