by RB Banfield
“First of all, I straight out ask them if they mind me using their names and story. Secondly, I don’t use their actual story. I just use it for ideas, and if I have to get close to reality then I will change it slightly. I’m not much of a writer to go and dream it all up myself. If I hear something I like I’ll use it, and add a twist to it so it looks like it’s something else. That’s not hard, doing that; altering a true story to get a new one, a new fictional one. Doing it that way, basing it on real life, all the background is done for me, and I’m free to build on it. It’s more realistic that way, since it is real; or should I say, starts out real. Something my wife tells me I’m not too good at, the realism. I do anything I can to help.”
“Who’s your contact in Gendry?”
“I don’t have a contact, unless you mean the phonebook. I just rang people at random, pretended to be an old friend, or distant cousin, get them talking, asking what’s happening in Gendry, and let them speak. Nothing illegal in doing that; we both know that. People just love to talk about themselves, given the chance. You wouldn’t believe the material you can get from just one of those calls. Fills in so many blanks for me; it’s great.”
“I don’t understand where Craigfield fits in. If he’s a real person here in the city, why add him into your story?”
“No, I didn’t add him, I just used his name, as I said. Check for yourself, I didn’t use his surname.”
“This is meant to be a different Craigfield in your story?”
“Entirely different.”
“Why have a fictional character if everyone else is based on real people?”
“You said it yourself: you can’t go writing about real people and their real stories. Writing real stories is not what I’m interested in. I added Craigfield in to make it more interesting, to make it look like I was making up something new. I don’t know what the real Sophie is like, and what her life is; and I don’t need to know that. And in case you were wondering, everything I have there about the Longbottom murder is what I heard on the phone or found in online media reports. If I have somehow interfered with your investigation then I apologise. It’s not like I’ve actually published this work. The only people who know anything about it are a few friends and yourself. How you found out, I have no idea. I can guess, of course, but it’s too late now, since you’ve read it and thought it worth your investigation time to bring me in here. Actually, to be perfectly honest with you: I find it humbling that you think it is real. That means I succeeded in making it seem real. You don’t know what an honour that is for a writer. Thank you for that.”
Dan nodded, happy not so much in the answer but that Max was starting to open up and talk more. He went back to see how Sophie was doing.
“How long do I have to stay here?” she asked him when she opened her door.
“You’re still telling me you don’t know Max Marshall?”
“I’ve already told you. He’s a part of my story, that’s all.”
“You know he’s a real guy? Not only that, he’s a writer, the same as you.”
“So what if he is? I just used his name. I really don’t know where you’re going with this.”
“Want to know what he’s currently writing?” Dan asked, slowly building aggression in his voice. “A little story about Sophie Trent, who goes to Gendry to stay with her grandmother and do a bit of writing. And she falls for a mysterious guy by the name of Craigfield.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Sophie said as she noticed how fat he was, particularly in both his neck and stomach.
“And what are you writing about, Sophie? Just a little story about Max Marshall, who suspects his wife is secretly seeing a mysterious guy by the name of Craigfield. Max then wants to kill this Craigfield but hasn’t got the guts to go through with it. Am I right about it so far?”
“I have no idea about any real people or what they might be writing. Are you serious about this? I find it most disturbing you’re wasting all this time with such questions. Is this seriously how you run your investigations? I don’t look like a killer.”
“You think?” he replied sarcastically. “I’m going back to go see Max again. He’s here in a neighbouring room, just like this one. I brought you both in at the same time and he’s been sitting there telling me all about you. He’s a bit more open than you are, though. Told me more about Craigfield and what you were doing with him in Gendry.”
Dan returned to Max and he carried his aggression with him. “You know how you’ve written about Sophie in Gendry and how she’s writing a story? You know Sophie has been writing about you?”
“What do you mean, writing about me?”
“Sophie Trent. That’s right, the woman you made your main character in your little tale about Gendry, she’s in the next room. Want to meet her?”
“I would love to meet her, if what you’re saying is true.”
“I can do better than that.”
It was time for the big moment. He tossed open the cover of the white folder in front of Max and let him read the first of the crumpled pages, and then left him alone in the room. Outside he stood next to Benny who had just done the same thing with Sophie. They watched Max and Sophie read each other’s work. Benny was surprised to notice that Max was gleeful at the sight.
“So, are they telling you who murdered Longbottom?” Benny asked with a tired sigh, trying to understand what Max was up to.
“Haven’t got that far yet.”
“Then you’ve got a lead on Craigfield?”
“Probably, I think, yeah.”
“What have you got for certain?”
“Them. Look at their faces, seeing what the other has written about them. Isn’t that beautiful? Who’s going to crack first?” Without really thinking he took out the ham and lettuce roll and started to devour it.
“Dan, I say this as a friend. You need to get a grip here. You haven’t got anything on them. We work with evidence, no airy-fairy fantasy, and certainly not stories fit for woman’s magazines. Yeah, that’s right, I’ve given them a bit of a read. I don’t know what all the fuss is about.”
“How else do you explain what’s happening here?” Dan asked with his voice too raised, and he accidently spat some of his roll. “How could they both know each other well enough to describe their lives in detail?”
Benny noted the pained expression on their faces as they looked over the pages in front of them. “Paranormal activity, is what it was. Unless they have actual intel on Longbottom, you really need to think about giving this one up. Danny, I’m saying this as a friend, you’ve lost all your cool on this one. Drop it before Moore gets wind of it.”
Dan was having none of that. He stormed into Sophie’s room, feeling his anger raging.
“See?” he said as he picked up the page she was reading and held it closer to her, forcing her to sit back in the uncomfortable chair. “Craigfield, isn’t it. Explain that, please, Sophie. Tell me about Longbottom. Who killed him?”
“This isn’t real,” she insisted. “It’s about me but it isn’t me. It has my name, the names of my family, the names of people in Gendry, but that’s the only thing about it that’s real. Go ask anyone in Gendry, they’ll tell you the same thing.”
“I plan to, don’t worry.”
“This can’t be a real police investigation …”
“You know something and I’m going to find it.”
“Honestly, I know nothing. Who’s your boss? What’s his name?”
“This isn’t some mystical psychic nonsense,” Dan said with is voice raised. “We all know that doesn’t exist!”
Sophie couldn’t help but start crying as Dan left her room in disgust, returning to Max’s.
“All right, Marshall, tell me that’s not real,” Dan demanded.
“None of it is real,” said Max, looking disturbed. “I don’t know where you got this, but—”
“I’ll tell you, shall I? That’s from Sophie Trent. You remember her; the girl you’ve writte
n about in minute detail.”
“That’s a very strange thing. Have you read this? Look close here, I think you’ve missed something. Sophie is writing about me, that is what it appears anyway. And what am I doing in this story of hers?”
“I don’t know, what are you doing?”
“I’m writing—my character in her story I should say—is writing a story about a girl named Sophie who goes to stay with her grandmother. And do you know what else?”
“What else?”
“In my story I describe a girl named Sophie who has gone to stay with her grandmother, who is writing a story about a man named Max. You see? It just continues, on an endless loop, forever. Who can explain such things? Perhaps sunspots, perhaps the tides, or the moon? Perhaps ghosts?”
Dan was enraged that Max could talk to him that way. He kicked his chair so hard that Max had to stand up.
“Tell me who Craigfield is,” he said threateningly. “You tried to kill him? At night, while he was sleepwalking. That part’s true, isn’t it.”
Max hurriedly grabbed a handful of papers and held them up in defence, almost as a shield. “This is just a story. You don’t think any of this is real, do you, really? It’s fiction. It’s just fiction!”
“Tell me who killed Longbottom!” Dan demanded.
“It was probably an accident. A speeding car, hit and run. Have you thought of that?”
“How would you know that?”
“That was the official report. That’s what the news reports said. That’s what most people in Gendry think happened to him. I know, I’ve talked to them about it.”
Benny came into the room and put a strong hand on Dan’s shoulder. “Come on, Dan. This has gone long enough.”
Dan let Benny walk him out to the corridor and then to the larger room filled with desks. “I’m making progress,” he said when they were away from the two rooms. “The car that hit Longbottom, we know what it looked like, right?”
“You’re referring to the police report? I didn’t see anything about that.”
“No, it must have been in Max’s story. When Handisides interviews Gendry folk in the diner. A white van that almost hit the undertaker.”
“You know that’s not real, right? Come on, Dan. Tell me you know it’s not real.”
“But it is real. It’s all real. Somehow they’ve uncovered the truth. Their writing, it’s amazing. They’re writing about each other, without knowing it. It’s like they’ve tapped into some kind of higher power, and they knew what’s happened. And somewhere here, today, we can find the truth of what happened to Longbottom. We just have to break them to get it out of them.”
“Dan, the report by Gant and Handisides, they never interviewed anyone in any diner. That’s in one of the stories, but it never happened.”
“Then they’re lying,” Dan said with a raised voice.
“You’re just getting that from the books. It’s not real.”
“No, it is real. Handisides is lying too!”
Dan was shouting now.
Benny looked at his friend and saw that he was not interested in thinking of any other conclusion. Everyone in the office stopped whatever they were doing and stared at them.
“We’ll find this Johnson person,” said Benny. “Should be easy enough now we know he’s Marshall’s wife’s fitness instructor. Then we will get to the bottom of the whole mess. Until then, take a break. Get some fresh air and have some food.”
Dan stared at him without speaking, and then realised that getting some more food would be a very good idea.
Dun Moore had not seen Dan for about a week but he heard a lot of talk about what he was up to. It was the kind of talk that made him not so much angry, more enraged. When he saw him and called him into his office he was shocked at how much weight he had gained in that time. That knocked back some of the anger. He could only guess at what his shirt size was, but it would be the type at the very bottom of the stack, or right at the end of the row. Dan’s face was bloated too, and his eyes were ringed with dark circles.
It was not a good time for Dun, as his own job performance was under review. He was trying for a promotion, as were most people with a job like his, but he recently heard that the entire police department might undergo a major reshuffle, and Dun could wind up with a lesser role. It was no time for one of his detectives to go rogue.
“Is there some explanation for your temper tantrum?” Dun asked as Dan sat in the chair in front of his desk and caused it to creak. “And why, exactly, did you have those two in interrogation?”
“Paranormal activity is my best guess,” Dan said with all seriousness. There was no other explanation that he could give. He noticed a half-eaten donut on Dun’s desk and wondered if he should ask for it or just go ahead and take it.
“I’m sorry, but what?”
“They know something; something big. Don’t be fooled by them. I know they’re lying. One looks like a day-care helper, or a nanny, but she’s in on the whole thing. Then you’ve got this stay-at-home type who thinks he’s some serious writer, except nobody’s ever heard of him; at least not any normal people. Put out a couple of strange books that I’m guessing have secret clues in them. Maybe apart they don’t pose a threat to civilisation, but together they’re a force. And when I say it’s a force, it may be something even they can’t handle. It’s all there in their writing. All there. Those are some serious documents we have there. We need to have them preserved and studied. What we don’t know: is it an isolated incident or could it be repeated?”
“Are you out of your mind? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Except it’s the most ludicrous nonsense I’d ever expect to hear from one of my detectives. And this is coming from you, Dan? Weren’t you one of my best? And now you sit here blubbering what? Books and secret forces? Is that what you said? You’re sitting in my office and saying what?”
Dan went to talk but Dun held up a hand. He wasn’t finished.
“Do you know how busy I am? Do you? I don’t need any of this. What’s happened to you, man? You used to be a good investigator; one of my best, in fact. Now look at you. Way overweight and untidy in your appearance, and making outlandish accusations that don’t even begin to make sense. I’m not liking what I’m seeing here. Don’t like it one bit. Take a good long look in a mirror, soon as you can. If you can’t see any difference to the Dan who used to work here; if you can’t get your act together, I’ll be looking for a new homicide detective. If any of what you just said gets out, I’m in just as much trouble as you, my friend. And that will not make me happy.”
“Can’t you see what’s going on here?” Dan responded like he had not been listening. “They’ve each written about the other. If I can put it all together, figure out how it happened, I can catch the killer. I’m not saying it’s one of them, or even that they know who it is. But together, they might. Maybe I’m right on it, that maybe it is something supernatural and spooky. Maybe it’s some psychic thing and they really don’t know each other. They could be telling the truth and they don’t know what’s happening, and can’t control any of it. Maybe they only know each other and what happened down in Gendry by thinking about it at the same time. A spiritual connection of some kind. Maybe that’s what it is. There’s a church there that might hold the key. I think one of Marshall’s books featured a church.”
“Just stop it right there.”
“This is serious!” Dan snapped, surprising Dun and making him shout.
“You’re off the case as of now!”
Dan took a sharp breath, realising that he had gone too far.
“Take some leave,” Dun said with sympathy. He could see that Dan was struggling and that made him lose some of his temper. “You’re a disgrace to your former self. Just an ugly sight. Never thought I’d say this to you, Dan, but if I don’t see a huge improvement when you drag yourself back in here then you’ll need to find somewhere else to call yourself a workplace, because it won’t be here and you can be sure
of that. You think I need my detectives talking the way you are? You think I want to be in this office for the rest of my career? What if one of my bosses came in here, overheard you? Goodbye promotion. I don’t need that. Get out and get yourself together.”
Dan sat still and blinked. Then he relaxed and nodded, rubbing his head like it was all too confusing for him.
“To answer your question,” Dun said as he calmed some more, seeing that Dan was finally listening to him. “No, we don’t look to ghosts for evidence. Not exactly evidence we want to take to trial.”
“Did you want that?” Dan asked with a soft voice as he pointed to the half-eaten donut.
Dun slowly shook his head in response, unable to comprehend what that had to do with anything. It seemed like it was in slow motion as Dan reached for the donut and put it into his mouth. He finished it before he made it to the door.
Gregory Retter walked with his usual confidence and was oblivious to what Dan had been going through. Both caught up in their own worlds, they almost walked into each other. Dan was too flustered over what Dun had told him, so that was his excuse. Gregory’s excuse was that he never took too much notice of other people anyway.
“Hey, Daniel,” Gregory said with a loud voice after they both exchanged apologies, “what was the name of that suspect you wanted again?”
“For what case?” asked Dan, not really interested.
“Hey, are you all right?” Gregory asked with a concern usually missing from his normal demeanour. “What’s the matter? You look terrible. You been getting any sleep? I see you’re eating okay, so it can’t be that.”
“What case?” repeated Dan, not in the mood to trade insults.
“Longbottom at Gendry. Are you getting enough sleep, partner?”
“I can’t afford time to sleep. I have a case to work. What about the Gendry case?”
“Guy with a funny name.”
“You mean Craigfield Johnson?”
“I thought so, yeah. Hard to be missing that name, isn’t it. Two officers have just called in wanting to know if you still want to see him. They’ve picked him up.”