Christ Clone

by McLeod, David

  Malone declined with a wave of his hand and they walked towards Logan's desk. As they moved away, the two officers returned to the coffee machine and resumed their conversation.

  Logan's desk was as disorganized as his clothing. Papers, pens, and half-empty coffee cups littered the surface. To the far left sat an old computer monitor. Although the screen was small, the bulky grey plastic case seemed to take up the whole side of the desk. The keys on the computer keyboard were blacker than their identifying markings.

  As Logan took a seat behind the desk he moved a small pile of paperwork, putting it onto a bigger one to make room for his coffee.

  Malone slid a metal chair closer to the side of the desk, took a sip of the bitter, stale coffee and sat down. Once again he felt uncomfortable — and it wasn't just the chair. Finding eye contact with Logan difficult, he looked deep into the blackness of the coffee. After what seemed an age, he looked up and slowly began. 'Did you see the news yesterday afternoon?'

  'I don't get to watch much TV nowadays, but I can only assume you're referring to the Salinas kid's abduction.'

  Malone nodded and continued, 'I know, in the past, some of my theories and leads have been a little off-base . . .'

  'Try way off-base,' Logan interrupted.

  'I guess I deserve that, but have you looked into the similarities?'

  'What do you mean?'

  Malone proceeded to tell him what little he knew so far. 'Well, there's the same coloured beige van of course; there's the fact they're both plumbing vans; both the girls' names are Mary and both girls are about the same age and physical profile. I realize the abductions are five years apart, and on opposite sides of the city, and I also know it's too early to say whether Mary Salinas has been kidnapped or abducted — or even if she's run away — but . . .'

  Malone was starting to listen to himself, and the tenuous link he was making between the two crimes. 'Listen, Logan . . . I know it's not much; in fact, the more I say it out loud, the less I feel I actually have. But all I can say is I feel there's something in this. There's just something that makes me feel the two girls' cases are related in some way.' A hint of desperation had appeared in Malone's tone.

  Logan sat and listened, watching Malone's body language for signs of looming aggression. He saw none. All he saw was a man who seemed to be awakening from a coma, a man with a new lease on life. 'So, the best you have for me is a van and a couple of coincidences? Not much, my friend.'

  Malone leaned forward and was about to interrupt.

  'But . . . you've come to me with worse, and I've chased down leads that have had less going for them, so let's see if this one has legs.' Logan turned to the computer and slapped the side of the monitor. 'Technology! I'm told it's the future of police work, but I think the jury's still out on that one. But let's see what it's got to offer.' The computer took a while to come to life, its electrons struggling desperately to hit the inside of the glass screen with enough energy to give information to the viewer on the outside. Logan should have upgraded to LCD long ago, but he claimed to like the old CRT. He often said it matched his crime-solving techniques; it might be slow to start, but always came through in the end. Logan shrunk his hand into his sleeve and rubbed the screen clean, then began to type in his ID and password. Once in the system, he used a mixture of tab keys and typing to get to the case file he wanted. The Salinas missing person report was basic, and he scanned down the pages and drilled through to the witness statements, finally stopping on the page he was searching for. His eyebrows rose as he digested the information and then he backtracked to the title page.

  Logan got up and went to the filing cabinet. He pulled open the middle drawer and started to run his fingers towards the back. The filing tabs appeared to have dates on them and Malone wondered how many unsolved cases were in there. Logan got to the file he wanted and pulled out a large manila folder. Returning to his desk, he dropped it loudly; the folder looked solid and heavy, like an encyclopaedia. Malone knew a lot of work had been done on his behalf, and there'd been no result.

  Logan opened the folder and started moving the basic missing person forms to the left-hand side. This was followed by reams of witness statements; he flicked through these until he got to the one he wanted.

  Jack Bellemy, also known as Mad Jack, was Malone's neighbour. He was a retired schoolteacher who'd earned his nickname by cutting his lawn with a pair of nail scissors. Not just trimming the edges, either — as if that would make it all right. No, he spent hours on his hands and knees, manicuring his entire front lawn. He'd always been odd, but only a generally accepted — talking to himself as he walked down the street — type of odd. Sometimes he'd be seen at his window conducting a symphony orchestra on his stereo, his arms flailing and a pencil for a baton. But it was the lawn-trimming stunt that promoted him from eccentric to mad.

  In his statement, Mad Jack said that on the day of Mary Malone's disappearance, he'd been walking his dog around the neighbourhood, something he used to do every day around three in the afternoon. He'd walked out of his gate, taken a right down Vine Street to the end, then right again into Avril Road until he got to the park. He liked the park because he could sit and watch the people, and his dog liked the run. Then it was back home for dinner. On his way home, he'd seen a parked van, a beige one with About Plumbing on the side. He'd remembered the name of the company because his dog's name was Costello.

  The immediate problem with this story was that he had no dog; his Jack Russell had died a few years back. But other neighbours confirmed that he did continue to take himself for a walk every day. Despite the witness's lack of credibility, there was a note on the file saying they'd followed up on the van's company name but had got nowhere.

  As Detective Logan was reading the statement aloud, he slowed at the part about the van.

  'See, the colour of the van is similar and the company name is similar,' Malone said excitedly.

  Detective Logan pondered the statement a little longer. He never had believed in coincidences, not in his personal life, and certainly not in his casework, but the thought of following a lead based on a statement from Mad Jack made him shiver. Once again he looked at Malone's face; the spark seemed to have returned to it. 'Look, the Salinas case isn't mine, and this information — well, at least we both agree it's not much. But if you promise to stay off the booze, I'll check this out. Deal?'

  'Deal.'

  They shook on it.

  'By the way, are you still on the same cell number?' Logan asked.

  'No, but I've still got the same home number.'

  Logan checked the report and read the number aloud.

  Malone nodded.

  Logan made a note of Malone's number and turned to put the file back in the cabinet.

  While Logan's back was turned, Malone leaned toward the computer screen. He quickly read the address of the Salinas home, and began the task of transferring that information to his remaining memory cells. He never could use the trick where you linked the name and number to some obscure item; he had to rely on constant repetition.

  As Logan led him back through the office maze, the intermingling conversations and office noise impacted the brain cells to which he'd allocated the Salinas' address. Malone's head started to pound. They came to the main door and Malone shook the detective's hand again. He controlled the urgency of his goodbyes and briskly exited the station. Once outside, he dived for his notepad and pen; as the contact details were consigned to paper, he felt the pressure in his head subside and he let out a huge sigh of relief. If this sort of thing is going to continue, Malone thought, I either need to grow more memory cells or find a better way to gather information.

  Having seen the state of Detective Logan's computer, Malone knew he somehow had to get online. His next stop was the Computer Warehouse. The store was as wide as it was deep, and big enough to house a jumbo jet. There were endless rows of computers, laptops, monitors, and other peripherals, with a sectioned-off area full of boxed so
ftware. Malone was way out of his league; this was going to be a bigger mission than he'd thought.

  'You look lost,' a voice behind him said.

  Malone turned to see a heavy-set young man wearing the company uniform with a badge that announced: My name is Daniel. How can I help you? His name was a sticker attached to the badge, as replaceable as the staff member who wore it.

  Daniel was trying to be helpful; it had been a long time since Malone had seen a computer, let alone used one. He explained this to the assistant, hoping he'd be able to buy one he could at least switch on.

  'This is one of our most basic, user-friendly models,' Daniel said. He was speaking slowly and choosing his words with care. Normally this would have bothered Malone, but his headache was returning and along with it the need for a drink, so the simple computer language helped.

  'It's ideal for the start-up beginner, internet-enabled with a thousand gigs of hard drive.' Daniel had lost him again.

  Malone just wanted to get out of the store. 'Listen, Daniel, if you were me, would you buy this computer?'

  Daniel thought about it for a moment and Malone assumed he was thinking more about the commission than the suitability. 'Yes sir, I would,' he finally announced.

  'Fine, I'll take it. Can you have it delivered and installed?'

  Daniel, seizing an opportunity to make money on the side, said quietly, 'I'll deliver it and install it myself for fifty bucks — for another hundred I'll throw in some basic training.' He'd turned his back to the sales counter as he made the offer. Like a man selling stolen watches in an alley, he didn't want to get caught.

  Daniel's proposition was music to his ears. Malone agreed, and they wrote up the paperwork.

  The next stop was the mall. Over the years, his solitary life had made him slightly agoraphobic; both the size of the mall and the number of people inside made him want to turn and run for home. But he took a deep breath and went inside. His heart rate sped up as he passed through the automatic doors; the cold breath of the air-conditioning hit him immediately, and the buzz of talk from the crowds in the mall.

  I'll find the closest men's store, pick up a few things and then move on, simple as that — he was thinking this way more to comfort himself than as a mission statement. He moved through the mall with his head bowed, lifting it from time to time as he looked for a mall directory. Just as he spotted one, he saw a Nordstrom storefront at the end of the walkway. They'd have everything he needed. He picked up his pace and headed for the entrance.

  The assistant couldn't have been more helpful and within half an hour Malone walked out of the store loaded with bags. He felt good. The mall had filled up with the aroma from Cinnabon. Malone's stomach cried out at the smell of cinnamon rolls oozing with creamy topping. Coffee and a bun made the perfect combination and he followed the tantalizing scent to the food hall.

  He juggled bags and food, and found an empty table. The warm, fresh roll quieted his cravings and he washed it down with hot coffee. Feeling content and amply rewarded for his efforts, Malone relaxed in his hard plastic chair to do a little people-watching. Looking around at the singles, families, and small groups of people, he wanted to know their stories. How come they could be in a mall in the afternoon during the week? Didn't they have jobs to go to?

  Most of them were carrying bags and boxes. How did they make their money? He looked at an obese family, plates loaded with Chinese food. Malone assumed the food had come from Benny Chan's all-you-can-eat buffet. He wondered if Benny Chan shuddered when he saw people that size coming in. Malone was just starting to feel bad about his negative thoughts when he heard a girl's high-pitched squeal behind him. He jumped, and turned around to see a group of girls giggling and screaming with pleasure at running into each other. They were already digging into each other's bags, looking for treasures. His pulse racing, Malone decided it was time to leave.

  He spent the rest of the day at home and as eight o'clock drew closer he began to pace around the living room like a caged tiger. This was when he was expecting Daniel, the computer salesman. Now Malone started to think he should have spent the time since he'd come back from the shopping mall cleaning the place, or at least picking up a few things, but he'd had beige vans driving around in his head all afternoon. Was there really a connection between the two cases? If so, what could he do that the police couldn't?

  When Malone opened the door to Daniel, the young man was struggling to hold on to the bulky computer box. 'Whoa there, man, maid got the year off?' he said as the door opened and the smell of beer and week-old pizzas hit him. He had a smile on his face, but dipped his head to avoid the full force of the stench entering his nose.

  'Let's just say I've been taking a little time out,' Malone replied, embarrassed. 'Whatever, man. Where do you want it set up?'

  Malone ushered him down the hall in the direction of the bedroom. Daniel gave Malone a second look, but seemed satisfied it would be safe enough.

  As he placed the main computer box on the desk, Daniel glanced around the room. He was taking in the pictures and the writing on the wall, but unsure what it all meant he decided it was none of his business. After repeated trips to his car for additional boxes, he began to connect monitor, mouse, keyboard, and printer to the computer terminal and the power.

  Malone watched as the cables and hardware started to conform to his image of how it all should look. 'You really know your way around this stuff,' he said, impressed by the young man's speed and knowledge and silently congratulating himself for taking Daniel up on his offer.

  When everything was in place, Daniel pulled up a chair and switched on the machine. The monitor sprang to life and the computer started to click and whirr. He took a disk from its sleeve and inserted it into the open tray. His fingers whizzed around the keyboard typing messages and clicking boxes. 'It'll take me a few minutes to customize this for you and install all the bits . . .'

  Malone could only stare. If he'd tried to help he'd only have got in the way.

  'Do you want a drink?'

  'Sure, got a beer?'

  'Nothing alcoholic, sorry.' His tone was more apologetic than he would have liked. 'I've got coffee? Juice? Coke?'

  Eyes fixed on the screen, Daniel didn't look up. 'Coke will be fine, thanks.'

  Malone went back to the kitchen and took a glass from the sink. He flicked on the tap and rinsed the glass in the stream of water, then turned to the fridge and pulled open the freezer compartment door. The sound of ice cubes dropping into the glass had a comforting ring to it, but this time it was followed by the crack and fizz of a can being opened rather than the sound of a Scotch bottle top being unscrewed. He returned to the bedroom and handed the drink to Daniel.

  Malone contemplated striking up a conversation with the lad, but after trying to come up with an opening line, thought better of it. Guessing the set-up was going to take a while, he told Daniel he'd be in the living room if he was needed.

  Returning to the kitchen, Malone opened the cupboard under the sink, picked out a bin liner and set about cleaning the room. With each of empty can, box, and piece of trash he picked up, he felt himself getting stronger.

  It took him a surprisingly short time to clear the room of its debris, filling three garbage bags. The cold night air greeted him as he took the bags out to the end of his driveway; there was a gentle breeze, and as he looked up at the stars he took a deep breath of fresh air. As he looked around at his neighbour's houses, things seemed different; maybe it was because he hadn't stopped to really look at things in a long time, or maybe it was just because he was sober. He went back inside, grabbed the TV remote and took up his position on the recliner chair. As Malone flicked on the TV, Daniel came into the room.

  'You finished already?' Malone asked.

  'Nah, it's going to take about a half-hour to fine tune things.' Daniel paused before continuing, 'Look, you probably don't want to talk about it, but what gives with the wall?'

  Do I really want to tell this story to a s
tranger? Malone asked himself. It had been so long since he'd spoken in depth to anyone outside of a bar, but then he thought, what the hell.

  'It's about my daughter; she went missing five years ago.' Malone started to tell his tale — the tale of his guilt about not picking her up from school, and his fruitless search for her. He told Daniel about his loss of faith, and then turning to alcohol. As the story progressed, Daniel listened ever more intently.

  Finally, Malone told him about Mary Salinas' disappearance, the similarities, and how it had revived his need to find his daughter. 'She was only fifteen, she'd hardly begun her life, and now she could be anywhere . . . or worse.' Malone trailed off. His eyes were filling up.

  'So this was five years ago, right?' Daniel asked.

  Malone nodded.

  'Man, she would have been the same age as me.' Immediately, he blushed at what the words 'would have been' implied. Glad to have the computer set-up in the other room as an excuse to change the subject, Daniel suggested they go back to verify everything was ready to go.

  Daniel sat at the computer and rebooted it. As it closed down and restarted, he took another look at the wall and in particular, Mary's picture. Malone's daughter looked so innocent and so lonely. He thought about his own childhood, how lonely he'd been growing up in the orphanage. He'd often dreamed that his parents were out there searching for him the same way Malone was seeking his daughter, that in some weird way he'd only been lost rather than abandoned.

  'So how much do you know about computer programs?' Daniel asked.

  'Not much, but it's a case of having to learn quickly. I need to use this to get as much information as I can,' Malone said, thinking about the task ahead.

  Daniel checked out the wall one last time. He seemed to be thinking about the two Marys, and he must have felt Malone's frustration. 'Look, I think I could probably retire on the money I'd charge to get you up to speed on this. What would you say if I did your computer research for you? For a fee, of course.'