Minions

by Addison, Garrett

  Devlin reluctantly headed to the little café. Wiser after yesterday’s coffee, this time he bypassed anything prepared by people who clearly had no idea what they were doing. He bought a can of Coke and sat at the same table in the garden courtyard and prepared for what would hopefully not be too long a wait.

  He found the wait for Detective Reymond difficult. The minutes dragged on long after he finished his drink and now the wait was painfully slow. He fidgeted a while before he looked for something else to help pass the time, grabbing a newspaper and puzzle book from the adjacent table. He turned his attention to the newspaper, ignoring the cover story. He was well past the news pages and into the lifestyle section before it occurred to Devlin that he was reading the paper differently. Whereas previously he focussed on the news-worthy content, now he found himself obsessed with the people behind the stories. Today, just like every other day, he knew that LastGasp’ messages would be sent and he wondered what their content would reveal and lead to. His final thought, just as Detective Reymond arrived, was almost surprise that he didn’t recognise any people from their stories, or associate them with any LastGasp’ messages.

  “We need to talk Devlin,” Reymond began as he sat at the table. He ordered a coffee by gesture to the waitress, and Devlin made no motion to warn him against doing so. “I was more than a little surprised to see you there today.”

  “It was a purely professional visit I can assure you,” Devlin commented defensively. “What’s the problem?”

  “No real problem I guess, except that I’ve been police since before you were born. Look at it my way. Yesterday I meet with you following the death of one of your work colleagues. Today, I bump into you on the other side of town at the home of a woman who has recently lost her brother. It doesn’t take that to bring out the suspicion in me, to say nothing of your exposure in the newspaper. So let’s start with how well you know Tania?”

  “I don’t!” Devlin exclaimed. “We met yesterday. I delivered a message from LastGasp’ to her, we talked for a little about her brother and that was it.”

  “What reason did you have in delivering a message to her.”

  “I’m just a messenger. I made a delivery that couldn’t be emailed, that’s all.”

  Any innocence in Devlin’s explanation was lost on Reymond. “In my line of work typically the title ‘messenger’ routinely equates to ‘courier’, drugs courier more specifically. Care to elaborate?”

  “I’ll assume you don’t know how LastGasp’ works. We deliver messages drafted by members to be sent after they die. Ordinarily these messages are simply emailed, but on occasion they need to be hand delivered. That’s how I met her yesterday when I delivered a message from her brother.”

  “What did it say?” Reymond asked sceptically.

  “It’s a private message. If you want, or need to know more then you’re going to have to ask Tania.” Devlin was curt. He knew that there were probably no legal grounds to prevent such disclosure, but he decided to err on the side of caution.

  “And today? Tania tells me that you forwarded something of a hoax.”

  “If it was a hoax, then it was not of my doing, or anyone else from LastGasp’.”

  “She tells me that you have a copy of the message.”

  “Yes. And I’m not going to show you for the same reason as with her brother’s message. It’s private.”

  “And apparently a hoax, purposely and deliberately delivered to a bereaved woman who has invited Police involvement.”

  “But it’s private.”

  “Private possibly, but private for Tania, not you. I could just as easily get another printout from her.”

  “True,” said Devlin, confident he’d created a stalemate.

  “Thanks Malcolm,” Reymond mumbled.

  “Did you say ‘Malcolm’?”

  “It’s nothing. For a moment you reminded me of someone I met recently. He too was annoyingly in tune with legal matters where it suited his purpose,” Detective Reymond revealed a childishly smug smile.

  “Malcolm Venn?” Devlin’s interest was now well aroused.

  “He’s a friend of yours?”

  “No, but I’d like to meet him.”

  “Well let’s just complete our little chat, co-operate a little, and then perhaps we might be able to arrange a meeting.” The Detective folded open his notebook and clicked his pen in anticipation.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Can we start with what you know about him?”

  “Until this morning I’d never heard of the guy, but…” Devlin was reluctant to say too much too soon.

  “And now?”

  “And now … I have no idea.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Are we talking or are you interviewing?” Devlin asked suspiciously.

  “Does that matter? I was planning to talk to you about David Yeardley and your employer later today, but I was more than a little surprised to bump into you at Tania’s home.”

  “That, I have explained.”

  “Yes, you have explained it, but not the fact that when you dialled the number for the ‘David’ on Tania’s email, the number was replaced with a name. Tania noticed it, but not the name. She also mentioned you didn’t say anything about it, as if you didn’t want her to know. I’m guessing that if I was to check the number you dialled on your phone it would tell me that you dialled David Yeardley. Tell me if I’m wrong somewhere?”

  Devlin didn’t waste his time challenging the Detective. “So does this mean that this is turning into an interview?”

  “Your call. At this point I’d say that I know as much as you, but not the same things. So perhaps we could help each other. What can you tell me?”

  “You first,” Devlin replied coyly.

  “This isn’t poker. I’m a patient man, but one who’s more than capable of turning this formal if necessary or if you’d prefer.”

  “Alright then, let’s keep it to a chat.” Devlin took a deep breath. “Until this morning I had never heard of Malcolm Venn. I met a guy called Whitely Mason, who’s an ex-LastGasp’ employee that Glen, my boss, suggested I meet. Whitely ultimately suggested that if I want to understand anything I need to find ‘Malcolm Venn’”

  “What’s to understand?”

  “I guess I’m having difficulty coming to terms with my new role. I trust you know who I am and my recent past. I’ve got no friends, no family and no future, and then from out of the blue I land a well-paying job that a semi-literate monkey could do. My boss may, or may not, be a little odd and I’d be lying if I understand what seems to be happening around me. One colleague topped himself yesterday, and apparently there have been others, though the one past employee I’ve met, this Whitely, was coy with the details. I don’t rightly know whether I should be concerned, or happy and just keep my mouth shut.”

  “And?”

  “David wasn’t the first LastGasp’ employee to die.”

  “People die everyday.”

  “From their job?”

  “From their job or on the job? It’s one thing to blame an employer for a suicide, but it might be a stretch to imply criminality.”

  “What if I said that I’m being warned not to follow suit?”

  “Warned by who, whom?”

  “God knows. I’ve been getting phone text messages from someone about it.”

  “I could look into it if you like? If you’re genuinely concerned. It is what Police do, you know.”

  “I doubt that would help. I had my phone nicked a few days ago, and the messages are being sent from that number. It was only a cheap pre-paid thing anyway.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” commented Reymond.

  Devlin shrugged, wholly expecting that any such investigation would amount to nothing. “Quid pro quo, Detective. What would help is telling me about Malcolm.”

  “I’ll tell you what I know,” Reymond began, “and then if you’re interested I’ll tell you what I think.�
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  “Both would be good.”

  “I met Malcolm a few days ago in a psych ward. He’d been in there for a few days. It wouldn’t have rated a mention, and certainly wouldn’t have attracted any enforced stay, particularly with hospital beds at a premium as they are, except for the fact that he was covered in blood on admission.”

  “Whose?”

  “No idea, on the main it wasn’t his, but your thoughts were shared by many, including me. It deserved a little investigation, at least until a body or two surfaced.”

  “He killed two people?”

  “Not that I know of, but it’s hard to say. There was a mixture of blood samples on him. The source was a separate matter, or story, entirely. Nothing conclusive enough to confirm his involvement in any of the several bodies that appeared around the time of his admission. They at least have been accounted for.”

  “So what did you find?”

  “I didn’t have grounds to hold or arrest him, but I was obligated to prove his identity to at least gauge who he is. That’s when I met Angie.”

  “Angie?” Devlin questioned out of surprise. “Angie who?”

  “The deal was that I’d tell you about Malcolm, not Angie.” He waited for some acceptance before continuing. “Anyway. I found Angie. She’d been assaulted, and over a long period by someone. Of course I wanted to finger Malcolm for it, but the timelines didn’t match. Thereafter he was released under the pretence that I could find him if I needed to, but he’s since disappeared.”

  Devlin recalled Angie’s message. She had disclosed the names of her attacker and Malcolm was not among them. It dawned on him that it was possible, if not likely, that the Angie from the message and Malcolm’s friend Angie were invariably not the same person. “I don’t think that I’m thinking of the same Malcolm, or Angie for that matter.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The Angie I know named her attacker, and it isn’t Malcolm. My Angie even described her ‘Malcolm’ as some kind of friend.”

  “A pity, I’m sure.” Reymond sighed. “I was obviously hoping you’d be able to assist me to at least some degree. I get few enough tangible rewards in my job to be able to turn my back on the prospect of being able to put the finger on any man so capable of beating a woman. I figured that Malcolm was implicated in at least some way, irrespective of whether he had a half plausible alibi or excuse on this particular occasion.”

  Devlin felt a weight lift from his shoulders. “So. Is there anything else that we need to talk about?” He was tempted to stand, but instead opted to wait for an answer.

  “You know. It’s a funny thing.” Reymond ignored Devlin’s obvious attempt to cut short their meeting. “I’m no fan of all of this technology. I’m ‘old school’, you see. Not a dinosaur, mind you, but I’ve just been a little slow to embrace computers in everything we have to do. The purists argue that all this technology makes it harder for the guilty to hide, but I’ve seen bad guys protected by a computer hard disk ‘crash’ just the same.” Reymond zealously emphasised his use of modern terminology with gestured ‘dittos’ in the air. “They’re right, of course. I’m not denying that. But, Malcolm’s situation surprised me is all.”

  “How so?”

  “You know. Everyone has a history. When I first started in my game it would take a lot of time and effort to learn of anyone’s past. It took contacts and time, and generally speaking you could find out what you needed to know. It wouldn’t be everything, sure, but it would be enough. You could prove a man has a history of violence, or trouble with substance, or perhaps that he’s indebted to the wrong people. Now of course you can find out substantially more, almost instantly. And that’s not just the police either. A simple Internet search by anyone could find out just as much. Sometimes I wonder if the Police capabilities would be better if they actually just did a Google search!

  “But not Malcolm Venn. The guy’s got no identification, nothing now or ever. Not known to police, here or overseas. No medical records, driver’s license, no passport. Not in any high school yearbooks or rolls. Nothing.”

  “Did you think that perhaps Malcolm wasn’t his real name?” Devlin commented mockingly.

  “I’m old, but not senile and certainly not stupid. It wasn’t hard to justify getting the fingerprints off a man admitted covered in blood. The DNA test took a little more time for the approval, but not even that bore fruit. Incidentally, I’ve since learned that he’s known by at least one other name.

  “Sure, I found other people named the same, but not my guy. Many years ago it was substantially easier to live under the radar, but now it’s almost unheard-of. It’s your turn to talk, Devlin.”

  Devlin attempted another sip from his long empty can. “I don’t know who Malcolm is, but I’d like to meet with him just the same. When I told Lori, you remember Lori, that Whitely mentioned Malcolm she said me that others were looking for him too.”

  “In spite of how committed I am to my job, I have no interest in playing nursemaid to you as you struggle with life’s mysteries. I am however willing to help you where it helps me.”

  “How so?”

  “Help me to help Angie.”

  “I said I don’t think it’s the same ‘Angie’. All I have is her number, and the rest is just what I’ve read.”

  “So what did you read?”

  Devlin felt the challenge of flaunting privacy. “I just read a message that she, the Angie I’m thinking of, left with LastGasp’. The details were private, but I felt for her.”

  “Felt for her enough to be a bystander, or to actually do something to help?” The Detective paused to allow Devlin to think. “Would it help if you could put a name to a face?”

  “Probably not.”

  “What about if you knew your Angie and my Angie were one and the same? You mentioned you had Angie’s number. If you tell me her number, your Angie’s number, then I’ll tell you if your number matches my contact details.”

  “You’re assuming that I trust you to tell me the truth. There’s nothing in that to prove to me you’ve even got a number.”

  “Well I’m not going to tell you my Angie’s number. I’m not a dating service. How’s this then. An eight digit number, here’s the last five digits.”

  Devlin couldn’t hide his acceptance that he’d found his Angie. “What now?”

  * * *

  Devlin tried to relax in Detective Reymond’s car, but he was un-nerved. He’d reasoned initially that his decision to make a few visits with the Detective was ‘against his better judgement’, but in reality he could just as easily have argued staunchly in favour of joining Reymond. It implicitly meant that he needed to weigh up what he could gain from meeting with Angie, and possibly Malcolm, relative to what Glen and the others might make of it. It was a moot point now. He’d left Ikel’s car parked near the café and set off with the Detective.

  On the road, Devlin amused himself with the thought that at least he was in the front seat of the Police car and not in the back seat. He remembered his first ride in the rear seat of an un-marked Police vehicle as if it were yesterday. In particular he remembered the vandal proofing on the rear of the front seats, the smell of sweat and fear that permeated the vinyl seating, and the non-functional inner door handle. It occurred to him that his recollection was restricted to the view from the rear as would be seen subdued and head down, as he was. This time however, he was in the front seat, but he instinctively grasped the door handle to prove to himself that it would work.

  “Where are we going?” Devlin asked.

  “I just want you to meet Angie. After that… we’ll see.”

  “I’m not committing to anything remember. The only reason I’m here is to meet Malcolm, or at least get on his trail.” He was more interested in setting a realistic expectation of his involvement, no matter how limited, than rescinding his offer. .

  “Meet her and then we’ll see.”

  Chapter - 50.

  Angie was singularly unimp
ressed to receive her flowers. More correctly, her initial delight at the delivery was replaced with a confused mix of anger and disillusionment as soon as she read the card to establish who had actually sent them. Nebojsa. She imagined just how the man would find it amusing, and the thought of it all made her feel sick.

  The hospital resident barely looked old enough to be out of high school, but he’d made it abundantly clear that her bed was ripe for vacation. She tried to argue the point, but she was the patient, and as such, what would she know. Without medical grounds to stay and her reluctance to disclose any other reason why she shouldn’t leave, the hospital was sure to get their way. Under those terms it was difficult to blame the medical fraternity entirely.

  As selfish as it was, Angie felt the desperation of her predicament such that when she saw Detective Reymond enter her room, she saw potential to use him to prolong her hospital stay. The Detective raised his hand in greeting, but first went to speak to one of the staff. His young offsider, she presumed it was another cop, stood staring at her from the doorway. She smiled and returned his gaze, but he seemed oblivious to what she was doing, as if he was trying to place her face somewhere in their common history.

  “They tell me you’re well enough to be discharged,” Reymond announced as he made his way to Angie’s bedside. “I tend to disagree, but alas I’m not a doctor, and the party line with the public hospital system is that beds are at a premium but home visits are easier, that is, cheaper.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “Well I’m not, Angie. I think it’s criminal that anyone would consider sending you home after what has happened, and even more so when doing so is putting you potentially back into harm’s way.” Reymond looked her over, “you know with just your forearms and face exposed above the bed-linen you really do look fit and healthy. And your fairy-tale explanation for your injuries hasn’t convinced anyone, nursing staff included.” He glanced to a wandering nurse to suggest that they would happily provide confirmation if necessary.

  “Your pride or fear is going to see you discharged whether you want or not.” The Detective softened his tone. “Of course, legally you can’t be discharged to home care if this would be putting you at risk.” That was as subtle as Reymond could be.