by Matt Doyle
Not that it matters. My point is, that judging by the condition of the building that we’re standing outside of, Gary is not exactly a high earner. If anything, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a couple of Nests on the block. Given that he hung out with Eddie, who was a self-confessed VJ Addict, it could even be that he runs one.
I send Bert up to the third-floor level with orders to track us and intervene if he either hears my signal or reads that something is wrong. Here’s hoping Gary Locke doesn’t start brandishing the sugar.
Lori and I make our way into the building and head straight for the elevators. We ignore the security guard at the main desk, and he returns the gesture in kind, keeping his head buried squarely in the dull light of his phone screen. The elevator shudders and jolts its way up the three flights, but gets us there in one piece. Gary’s apartment is at the back of the block, meaning that Bert will be scaling his way around the outside of the building right about now, looking for a potential entrance if it’s needed. For us, though, the direct approach is fine.
I knock on the door and take a step back, stopping so that I’m to the side of Lori, but still central to the door opening. If he recognises Lori, that may result in us getting a warmer welcome, so I don’t want to hide her from view. At the same time, questioning Gary is my job, so I want to make my role the focal point when he answers the door. When nothing happens, I knock again and resume my position.
Just as the silence kicks my internal paranoia engine into overdrive and the idea of a serial murderer of VJ Addicts on the loose jumps up as an idea, a heavy-footed shuffling echoes out from behind the door. And so we wait. The sound of three old-style, non-electronic locks clicking open precedes the slow creak of the door being pulled back, opening inward.
The man in front of us looks a little worse for wear compared to the photo on Jeremy’s files. His eyes are a bit sunken, and the sweat dripping off the ends of his hair is weighing it down, causing it to cling to his face just below his ears. His clothes have a light odour to them that reminds me of out-of-date plums. The reason for the scrape-thud sound of his steps is also now clear; his left knee is supported by a hefty-sized brace like the ones you see on professional athletes when they’re recovering from an injury, and he’s carrying a crutch under his left arm. Looking at the slight sag in his build, it wouldn’t be hard to think that he might have once been a sportsman of some sort, but he certainly isn’t now.
“Cassandra Tam, PI,” I say, and offer my hand. “Gary Locke, I assume?”
He looks at me warily, then turns his head towards Lori. There’s a flash of something in his eyes, but it fades quickly and is replaced by a frown.
“Hi, Gaz,” she tries. “It’s me, Lori. Lori Redwood. We met a couple of times at Eddie’s.”
The man nods solemnly and takes my hand. “I pr-prefer Gaz,” he says, and shuffles himself to the side. He nods down the small hallway and licks his dry-looking lips. “Please, come in.”
Upon entering, I note that one of the hallway doors is wide open, leading to a surprisingly tidy bedroom. The other door is shut and probably leads to the bathroom. At the end of the hall, the room opens out into an open-plan space with the kitchen on the right and a living room to the left. A decent-looking log-in chair sits snugly against the back wall of the living room, facing out towards the kitchen. Two chairs are pushed up against the opposite wall that separates the living room and the probably-bathroom.
The door to my own apartment opens straight into the three-part kitchen, office, and living room area, the bedroom and bathroom sit at the far end, both behind closed doors with no hallway to separate them. While the larger size and the layout put it at a higher end of the market than places like this or the Holland-Farlow Nest, it does annoy me slightly that I’m essentially living in a similar state as the Junkies. I shouldn’t judge. Really. There are some nice Addicts out there—I met a fair few of them when I stayed at Charlie’s—but it does grate on me. I’ve always thought that I should be better than them. I mean, I haven’t fallen into the trappings of addiction or anything like that, so to see any similarity between us is a knock. Or maybe it’s just that being around them reminds me of her.
“Sorry,” Gaz says, following in behind us. He makes his way across the room and slumps into the log-in chair. “I was online. The system told me that someone was at the door, but with my leg, it takes me a while to get up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “We turned up unannounced, so it’s not like you had time to prepare for us.”
“Thank you,” he says and turns towards Lori. “And, how are y-you, Lori? I was sad to hear about Eddie.”
“I’m okay,” Lori replies, then moves a laptop from the seat of one of the chairs and sits down. “It was Eddie that we wanted to talk to you about, actually.”
“Oh?” he says, making the sound a question, then lurches forward and starts up a coughing fit. He slaps his own chest a few times and sits back again. “I’m sure that you know I’m an Addict,” he wheezes. “Unfortunately, I could never afford the healthcare that Eddie could, so I’ll have to ask you to forgive me if I struggle a little.”
“That’s no problem,” I say, sitting in the chair next to Lori, and turning on my most pleasant false smile. “Still, that looks like a nice chair. What do you do for a living?”
“Right now, I am between jobs,” he sighs. “The chair was a gift. Eddie was generous like that. M-Miss Tam, was it?” I nod, and he continues, “You introduced yourself as a PI. May I ask what brings you here today?”
I look to Lori and ask, “Did you want to explain that?”
Lori nods and lets out a deep sigh. She looks up at Gaz and says, “I was the one who found Eddie.”
“I see. That must have been hard for you.”
“Hard. That’s an understatement. Seeing him slumped there, lifeless, the needle still in his hand…” She shakes her head and looks down at her knees, her hands tightening on her baggy trousers, bunching the material in her grip. “The police said that he died of an accidental overdose of Flash7, but I could never believe that. Eddie was just so against stimulant use, you know? He used to tell me how he was keeping his experience pure so that it didn’t affect him if he went for a job with a Pro company. He was desperate to move from Addict to Pro. It just didn’t make sense for him to do it.”
Lori pauses, and I give her a chance to continue. When she doesn’t, I take over. “Lori hired me to look into Eddie’s death for her. We’ve spent the last few days running through everything that we can think of in case this wasn’t an accidental overdose, as the police said.”
“Ah, I see. And have you found anything suspicious?”
“Not yet,” I lie, and lean forward, dropping my elbows onto my thighs and my chin into my hands. On the way over here, I briefed Lori not to let Gaz know that we had any evidence at all. If he was involved in any way, telling him that we think this was a murder would only spook him and make him close up. At the same time, a flat “no” would make the visit seem pointless and raise suspicions, if he was involved. A simple “not yet” shows intent, but it isn’t strong enough to cause a shutdown. A slip-up, maybe, but not a complete shutdown. “As much I am bound to follow my client’s wishes,” I continue, “I do have to consider the possibility that Eddie was a user, and simply kept his stimulant habit a secret. I understand that you and he were close friends, and so I was hoping that you may be able to confirm whether this was the case.”
Gaz relaxes back into the chair and smiles. It should be a gentle smile, but there’s something there that I just don’t like. A hint of arrogance, maybe? It’s like a poacher’s smile, just before he pulls the trigger. “If Eddie used stimulants, M-Miss Tam, then I am afraid that he kept it from me too. A-as Lori says, he wished to find employment with a major company and didn’t want to ruin his chances of that happening.” He coughs again, only once this time, and says, “I spoke with Eddie online a lot before his death. He told me he had met a man who was
interested in hiring him, but I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. Eddie was a good friend, but it is difficult for an Addict to become a Pro. He was very good with programming, though. If anyone could do it, it would be him.”
“He told me that he had an interview too,” Lori says, sitting up again now. The tears haven’t made what little makeup she wears run, though I doubt she’d take solace in that right now. “But he didn’t say who with. Did he tell you at all?”
“Hmm,” Gaz replies, the sound gruffer than it should be. “He did mention something. A name. Now, what was it?” He takes in a wheezing breath and continues, “H-Hollister, I think. I am afraid that I do not remember the name of the company, though.”
I nod. “We can look that up. If the net doesn’t give us a clue, I’ll just warrant one of the local government offices. I know that the virtual world lets people work remotely anywhere, but Pros are expected to stay in the office for the duration of their shift. If he did have a job interview, then they’d have to have a local branch.”
“I quite agree, M-Miss Tam,” he replies, and flashes that smile again.
“Well then,” I say, and push to my feet. “I think that that’ll do for now. If we have any further questions, can we come back to you?”
“Of course. But if you could let me know in advance next time, it would be much appreciated. I could perhaps get some refreshments ready, if that would be suitable?”
“Sure.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a business card, then walk over to Gaz and hand it to him. “In the meantime, if you think of anything at all that may be useful, my details are on there.”
“Thank you, M-Miss Tam. I will.” He turns to Lori then and adds, “And again, my c-condolences, Lori.”
“Thank you,” she replies, then stands up and moves beside me. “You too.”
Gaz waves cordially and says, “You will forgive me if I don’t see you out. At my current speed, it may take longer to escort you to the door than it has taken you to talk to me.”
“That is not a problem at all, Mr. Locke. And thank you for your time.”
He nods, and we make our own way out. Once the door has clicked shut, Lori turns to me and starts to say something, but I wave to her to silence and glance back at the door. “Wait until we’re back at the office,” I say.
We walk the rest of the way in silence.
I PUSH MY office door shut and Lori leans herself against the wall. “There’s something strange about him,” she says. “I mean, I don’t know if he was always like that, we didn’t really speak much before, but he seemed really…off.”
“Could be damage from the amount of time he spends online. You heard what he said about healthcare, right?”
“I know, I know. He just felt different from when I’ve seen him before. Sort of like he knew more than he was saying but didn’t think it was possible for anyone to figure that out?”
I nod. “I do know what you mean. That’s why I cut the interview short. He was the wrong sort of compliant; feeding us snippets of things, but not giving us anything too definite. It could be that he really wasn’t sure about things, but there was something about the way he smiled when we started mentioning stimulants that made me feel uneasy. Honestly, that was the main reason that I left Bert there to run surveillance.” I sweep the hair out of my eyes and try a smile. “Still, he did at least confirm that Eddie had an interview with Dean Hollister.”
“Yeah,” Lori replies, her head dropping.
I place a hand on her shoulder and she turns to look at me, the tears welling up again. “If this is too hard for you, I can go and interview Hollister myself. Or if you need a break, we can grab a drink somewhere first?”
Lori giggles quietly and snuffles her nose. “Worst timing to ask someone on a date ever.”
I roll my eyes, and Lori balls her fist up and slaps it lightly across my shoulder.
She wipes her eyes with her wrist and says, “Seriously, though, I want to keep going. But once everything’s done, I might need a drink.”
I smile and tap the door. “Let’s get moving then. After all, the quicker we solve the case, the quicker you get the date that you clearly desperately want.”
Lori laughs, a little louder and little brighter this time. Honestly, I don’t know if she is seriously interested in me or not. Hell, I don’t really know if I’m interested in her, or if I’m just beginning to feel the loneliness again. First things first, though. I have a murder to solve.
Nineteen
IT TAKES SOME time to find out which office Dean Hollister is currently working in. Being the CEO of multiple companies means that he has to split his time between a number of locations. While he can no doubt work on the business for all six no matter what office he is in, there is obviously a need to be on hand at a specific location depending on what is being worked on at the time and what takes priority. We finally find him in the office where he held his final meeting with Eddie Redwood: the local branch of Shift Source Limited.
This particular office is where Tech Shifting began. While the public only really knows the process from its release five years ago, the files we acquired from Jeremy show that Hollister’s initial foray into Shifting was two years before that. That doesn’t mean much, of course; just that the process underwent two years of design and testing before it was released to the public. Given the danger aspect of the initial operation and the precision involved with suiting up, that’s not surprising. These days, while Hollister still presides over things from this particular office, the brunt of the work below him appears to be split between the company’s European office in Brussels and their Australasian office in Canberra. Despite this jump in location to places as far apart as Belgium and Australia, the SSL website is very quick to point out that this founding office is still the hub point for the generation and testing of new ideas. I guess that the overseas offices just provide cheaper labour for the mass-production-level grunt work.
What surprises me is the process for getting a meeting with Dean Hollister. After we found out which office he was in, I let the receptionist know that we were looking to make an appointment with him so that we could discuss Edward Redwood. As soon as that message was passed on, Hollister told the admittedly very helpful lady on the main desk to ask us to come over straightaway and he would clear his schedule. Openly inviting us to chat like that after learning that a PI was on the way caught me a little off guard.
I originally intended for Lori to stay in the car for this one. When it came to visiting her brother’s house, her familiarity with the place was essential. By the same token, it made sense for her to join me in visiting Gary Locke, because being known to him worked in a lot of different ways. Aside from her own private-time activities, though, she had no connection to Dean Hollister or his various places of work. That, combined with the obvious effect that the talk with Gary had on her, made her staying outside all the more sensible an idea.
She insisted on coming in with me and wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I ended up giving in far more easily than I normally would. This isn’t the first time that I’ve had a client want to take a hands-on approach to a case, and while not always ideal, it’s something that’s workable if they’re willing to cooperate with what you’re saying. In this case, I could at least justify her being there in my head as a way to ensure that nothing too untoward would be said. If Dean Hollister mentioned something about Eddie Redwood that was unequivocally false, Lori would be able to pick up on that, whereas I would not. On top of that, the potential quick resolution and a chance to see the SSL office from the inside seemed to cheer Lori a little.
When we arrive, the receptionist I spoke to on the phone immediately buzzes for our escort. I expect a burly security guard to arrive. What we get is a friendly looking guy in a business suit who immediately becomes fascinated with Lori’s plugs. While the two of them chat about Ink and how the process was for Lori, a conversation which confirms that Lori underwent the process three years ago, w
hen her brand of plug was still new, I take note of our surroundings.
The ground floor is pretty much a carbon copy of any major office in the area; all open with one central reception point. Things seem quiet today, but you’d think that it would get pretty busy during peak business times, especially when investors or overseas staff visit. The main desk is only big enough for one person, so whoever mans it during those times must be pretty damn efficient. Given how she’s been with us, I wouldn’t be surprised if it is the self-same woman who’s down there now. I can admire that. It almost makes me feel guilty that I didn’t bother to check her name. Almost.
The elevator is nice enough. Spacious, and in our case, virtually empty. It moves quickly and smoothly, taking us up to floor twenty-two, the highest of the general work floors. The office guy—who I only know is named Mr. Ghoul, spelled like the Arabian monster but pronounced Gow-ool, because Lori has been paying more attention to what he’s been saying than I have—finally grabs my attention enough to explain that there are a further ten floors below ground. Only three of the six ground-floor elevators go down that way, while the other three mirror this one and only head upwards. The floor we’re now on is where a lot of the big decisions are made and passed out to the various other floors and offices. The project leads and high-end executives all occupy the place, and work tirelessly in both the real world and the virtual one.
The floor itself is what I would describe as clean-modern; the sort of look that’s almost shiny white and is clearly kept that way through regular and intensive maintenance work. The effect is that, even with the occasional areas of messy cabling work and the ever-advancing technology of the day, it always looks new, and always looks professional. It’s how a lot of people expect places like banks and tax offices to appear until they actually get to see one from the inside on any of the noncustomer-facing floors. The reason we’ve stopped here is because it’s as high as this particular elevator goes. This is because security protocol states that no intruder must be able to reach the highest floor where all the important stuff is located. Like the CEO. The elevator to that office is at the other end of the floor, and the only way to get access is if either the occupant buzzes you up or you know the override codes. No one in this office other than Dean Hollister knows the override codes, so emergencies would need to be dealt with via an international effort. What this also means is that, should an armed intruder get in, the top-level staff can make their way up to the safe area quickly.