Minions (22 page)

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.”

“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.”