Minions (17 page)

“You done?” the paramedic dragging the gurney asked.

“Not yet.  I haven’t even been in to see the scene.”

“Then what does it matter that we took our time,” the
paramedic replied smugly.  “Based on the call, I didn’t figure he was going to
need immediate care, so we allowed ourselves to be distracted by more pressing,
and living, patients.”

“Touché!” Reymond smiled.  “You guys go and have a smoke,
and I’ll send for you in a bit.  On that point, Morris, your offsider can go
too, but I’d like for you to wait a while.  Just give me a moment on my own.”

Reymond watched the others leave via the lift as he
started to fit gloves from his pocket.  He pushed the ajar door open wide
enough for him to enter, and started to take stock of the room. 

Had his eyes been closed on entering the room, Reymond
would have felt his senses heighten in sensitivity based solely on the
pervasive smell of blood.  Nothing smells like it, not even other bodily
fluids, and in this room, there was a smell, not just a scent, that indicated a
sizeable volume of it. 
Angie had that right
.  Eyes open, the room
amounted to a frightening sight, reminiscent of a farcical b-grade horror
flick.  Blood covered what looked to be the whole room, almost floor to
ceiling.  There was a single body, a man, lying impossibly comfortably on the
blood sodden sofa. 

Detective Reymond checked the door and its damaged frame,
confirming what he’d been told about it having been forced open.  He stepped
forward carefully towards the body.  There was no way to avoid interfering with
the crime scene, but he did need to minimise contaminating the site if at all
possible.  He felt the squelch under his shoe, and then the residual stickiness
of the congealing blood with each step.  Up close to the body, it was even more
obvious that the man was dead.  A film of dried blood over much of the glass
window wall tended to give everything a magenta hue, but even so, the man had a
distinctly lifeless colour about him.  Reymond checked for a pulse as a matter
of routine, but he was realistic about his expectations, particularly when at
first touch it was obvious that the body was at room temperature.  

Primary formalities over, Reymond set about his immediate
secondary purpose, confirming the cause of death.  More importantly, he needed
to confirm that it was indeed suicide.  He inspected the wounds, which all
appeared to be self-inflicted by a right handed individual, but the wounds
would have been far from painless, particularly as they were being inflicted. 
The incisions had been made by a sharp, but far from surgical blade and it was
apparent that it had taken quite a lot of effort, in much the same way as a
standard cutlery knife would struggle with a gristled piece of meat.  If the
man did die at his own hand, it proved only that he was committed.  He’d need
some kind of pain relief too, but judging by the plentiful array of empty
bottles of wine and spirits spread on the adjacent coffee table, Reymond
figured that alcohol had sufficed. 

Morris said he’d cut the man down from the fan, but
Reymond was interested in what this meant in terms of the chronology of the
man’s death.  He scanned the room after looking at what remained of the
haphazard noose around the man’s neck; fashioned simply as a long loop out of a
bed-sheet.  Judging by the smear of blood on the fan switch on the wall,
Reymond theorised that the last few steps that the deceased had taken were to
turn on the fan after cutting himself.  He’d then slung the sheet over the fan
and waited for the slack to be reeled in, lifting him from the ground and
spinning him around until being discovered.  There was no significant damage to
the man’s throat or neck and it appeared to him that the noose had little to do
with the man’s death, other than to expedite the bleeding. 

Reymond was satisfied in as much that it was in fact
suicide.  He removed a camera from his pocket and started taking photographs of
everything.  He called the paramedics, inviting them to do their job and left
the room. 

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 35.
               
 

Devlin was keen to provide some support for Lori, though
he knew the feeling was mutual.  He was getting the support that he himself
needed by just being among friends.  Ikel had joined them in the bar which
seemed the only appropriate place to be.  They sat, quiet on the main, but
periodically breaking into casual, reminiscent banter about David.  “Remember
when ….”  With each outbreak of talking, the mood would lighten temporarily and
smiles would appear from nowhere, only to retreat with the greyness of silence.

Not surprisingly, the collective recollection, spoken at
least, was overwhelmingly positive about David.  Just as eulogies tend to focus
on the good in someone, there was no talk about what everyone knew.  Devlin was
tempted to ground the conversation and add a little sobering honesty about what
he thought about David.  He could have said that David was difficult to get on
with, bordering on obnoxious, self-righteous in the extreme, and as it turned
out, was probably a closet sex addict.  Devlin decided that now was not the
time or the place and it would serve no purpose other than to distance himself
from the others.  He opted to keep his malevolent thoughts to himself.

It was early evening when they were joined in their corner
in the bar adjacent to the restaurant.  They had the perfect vantage point to
see each and every person entering the area, and it was obvious that the
newcomer was making a direct route to join them.  An old guy in a cheap suit,
coming towards them with a purpose could only have been Police.

“My name is Detective Alan Reymond, and I’d like to talk
about David Yeardley,” the newcomer announced.  “I’m assuming that at least two
of you are Ms Hinkley and Mr Bennett.”

Ikel rounded out the Detective’s information.  “I’m
Michael Donovan.  I work, or
worked
, with David.  But I was in my room
when he was found.”

“That’s fine.  I’d just like to talk to you all for a
while.”  Reymond made himself comfortable, sitting in one of the deep armchairs
around a central drinks table.  He ordered a soft drink from the waitress and
casually looked over the others as he waited for the drink to arrive.  “Can
each of you please start with your name, and then tell me anything that you
think that I need to know.”

Lori was the least composed of the three, so she paused
expecting either Ikel or Devlin to start briefing the Detective. 

“I’m Devlin Bennett.  I live just down the corridor from
David, and I worked with him, until today.”  He thought about continuing, but
once more he resisted any inclination to oversupply information.  He allowed
himself a moment to have a drink and wait for the Detective to steer the
passage of disclosure.

“Where do you work?”

“We’re all employees of Independent Media Analysis,” Lori
answered on behalf of Devlin, finding her voice.  “We’re media analysts.  We
live down the corridor too.”  She pointed her finger erratically, alternating
between Ikel, Devlin and herself. 

“You worked with David until today.  What happened?”
Reymond continued questioning Devlin directly after an acknowledging nod to
Lori.

“He left,” Devlin answered succinctly, glancing briefly at
Lori for her concurrence.  “An internal matter, or perhaps a personal matter. 
It doesn’t matter which.”

“It might,” Reymond encouraged subtly.

“He broke a well understood, internal company directive. 
As much as any of us know, either he was asked to leave or left of his own
choosing when confronted on the matter.  In any case, he left.”

“When was this?”

“Earlier this afternoon.  I left work a while after.  We
work in a small office, and having someone leave left a bit of a cloud in the
air.  I figured that I’d go and clear my head.  I came back here and then I
went to speak to David.”

“Why?”

“Why not?  He was a workmate who just upped and decided to
leave.  I’ve only just joined the company and so I was interested.  He didn’t
say much, and he was hitting the wine way too hard, and early, for me.  He gave
me a note to give to Lori here, and then I left.”

“What time was this?”

“Mid-afternoon I guess.  I didn’t look at my watch.  I
just made a bee-line for the office.  Our boss filled us in, of sorts, as to
why David left and then he sent us all home for the day.”

“So when did you make the discovery?”

“When we all got back here, I remembered the note that I
was supposed to give Lori and I gave it to her.  It spooked her, we rushed to
his room and the rest you know.”

Reymond’s attention turned to Lori.  “What did the note
say?”

“It was nothing really.  You’re welcome to it.”  She
offered the note to the Detective, passing it across the table.

“So who’s this Derrell?”

“Derrell Kendrick.  David knew him.  I knew of him.  I
know he committed suicide and that he was a past employee of our company. 
Other than that, I know virtually nothing about the guy.”

“So when did you last see him?  David, that is.  Alive,”
Reymond broke eye contact with Lori only long enough to check the notes he’d
been taking were legible.

“Today at work.  We work pretty closely together.”

“So was he there at work all day?”

“Yes, or at least he was there when I got there.  I tend
to get in later than the others generally, and David is, or was, routinely on
the night shift.”  Ikel smirked at mention of the night shift and Lori sighed
in response at his immaturity.  She offered an explanation for the benefit of
the Detective.  “We found out today that David was, well, using his time on the
night shift on …”

“Personal development,” Ikel said, trying to help.

“I was going to say
inappropriate activity at odds with
our company ideals
,” she scowled at Ikel.  “That’s why he left, or was
sacked.”

Ikel took his cue from Reymond for his account.  “I last
saw him this afternoon.  He and Glen had words and then he left, and I haven’t
seen him since, other than the video.  Dev’ rang me after they found him and I
met them here.”

“Glen who?”

“Glen Scott.  He’s our boss.”

Reymond continued taking his notes, as if he knew the name
but just needed to write it down.  “What’s this video?”

“Company internal security footage,” Lori answered
quickly, as if considering herself the best to explain this appropriately, for
all concerned.  “We were shown it today by our boss.  David breached our
security rules.  That’s all, but it’s a big deal in our work.”

“Anyone got anything else to add?”

There was silence at the table.  Devlin watched as Reymond
looked at everyone in turn and collectively, gauging what intangibles he
could.  He theorised as to what the Detective might be thinking, but he figured
that they all looked just like people who’d just learned that a colleague had
died, committed suicide.  There was an obvious sadness among everyone and they
all just sat silently, not really waiting for the Detective to go, not really
waiting for anything. 

“I’ll be in touch if I need anything, and likewise, let me
know if you think of anything else.”  The Detective stood and exchanged
business cards with the others, as a matter of routine. “I’m sorry for your
loss,” he offered. 

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 36.
               
 

Dinner that evening for the remaining trio from LastGasp’
was a quiet affair.  The reminiscing about David had stopped and nothing filled
the communication void except the silence.  In many ways, Devlin reasoned, it
was probably just like the drive home from a wake.  The topic of conversation
that did rise above the distant din of the kitchen was talk of the funeral and
who, if anyone would need to contact David’s family.  This in turn gave rise to
speculation about what family David had, the answer to which no-one it seemed really
knew.  This sad fact further deflated the dinner mood as it reinforced the fact
that ultimately no-one knew a great deal about David Yeardley. 

Devlin returned to his room substantially earlier than the
previous evening.  An early dinner following their meeting with the Police, and
without the frivolity of pre-dinner drinks and lively mealtime conversation, he
was in his room by 8pm, bored as hell by 8:10, and in bed but clearly unable to
sleep by 8:30.  He’d neglected to turn off his phone for the evening as
suggested by Ikel.

A steady stream of messages began to arrive, each marked
by the familiar sounds, and punctuated by relative silence.  With the receipt
of the second, Devlin was summonsing the motivation to find his phone, but
eleven messages had been received by the time he’d actually found it.  He
considered deleting them, as Lori and Ikel had suggested would become standard
practice, but instead he opted to browse them.  Curiosity was getting the
better of him. 

The first few messages were familiar.  He’d read the
messages about Leon, Casey and Carson before and his thumbs instinctively
pressed the key sequence on his phone keypad to delete each without any further
consideration.  The next two were similar, but new. 

Derrell Kendrick is dead.

David Yeardley is now dead.

This was hardly news, but it was disturbing nonetheless
and Devlin pondered it for a moment before continuing with the rest of the
messages.  He knew that suicides invariably only ever made the media if it
involved some celebrity or innocent bystanders.  This begged the question of
how the sender of the message could have learned of David’s death so quickly. 
It was reasonable that the cause of Derrell’s death would eventually make it to
the public domain, but David’s death would not have even made it into a
register in the morgue yet.  Furthermore, Derrell had died some time ago, but
until that afternoon he’d never received any message relating to him, and for
that matter he was unaware that he’d actually died at all, let alone even
existed, until Lori explained en-route to David’s room.  He was perplexed as to
why Conrad would wait until now to send a message relating to a long dead
person.  He continued reading.