Minions (19 page)

“So?  That should make this information more interesting
to you.  For comparison, look at my matrix.”  Conrad typed and clicked once
more.  The display of the screen changed noticeably, but presented a similar
matrix.  There were a number of flashing nodes, but not nearly as many as there
had been previously.

“See!  You know dead people too, or,
sorry
, have
had
contact
with dead people,” Devlin commented smugly. 

Conrad was visibly saddened by the comment, but he said
nothing.

On seeing Conrad’s reaction, Devlin was lost as to what
he’d said wrong.  “What?  What did I say?  I only pointed out that you’ve
contacted
people who are now dead too.  So what’s the big deal about Glen’s matrix then?”

“The flashing dots on mine are some of the same dots on
Glen’s,” Conrad pushed himself away from his desk.  “They were all readers,
like you,” he said as he edged past Devlin.  “I didn’t convince them and so
couldn’t help them, but I can help you.”

Devlin remained fixated on the screen for a while and
reached for the mouse in an effort to use the computer.  Glancing over his
shoulder, he looked at Conrad for some indication of approval or concurrence,
but Conrad only reached for the television remote control after briefly locking
eyes.  Devlin took the passing eye contact as tacit approval, and he started
using the mouse.  He very quickly worked out that if he moved the mouse cursor
over any of the nodes, flashing or otherwise, a name, presumably that of the
person that particular node represents, was displayed, along with an array of
personal information.  He gravitated to the first of the flashing blue nodes,
and recognised the name, Casey Lawrence.  He knew the names represented by the
second, third and fourth flashing nodes subconsciously before he confirmed
them. 

“Leon, Casey, Carson, and now David,” said Conrad as he
turned off the television. 

Devlin was lost for something to say.  “Who are the
others?” he asked, pointing to the flashing nodes.  He could have found out
with his mouse, but after the latest revelation, he felt more inclined to ask.

“Relax.  The others are my uncle, and a guy I knew from
the gym.  And it doesn’t mean that I killed them.”

“Well, it doesn’t mean that Glen killed them either.”

“You don’t think that it’s a little odd that so many
readers are dead?” asked Conrad emphatically.  “What would convince you? 
Surveillance video of Glen actually killing them?”

“Perhaps.”  The thought dented his façade of confidence. 
“How did they all die?”

“Suicide.  Mainly suicide anyway.”

“Suicide?  I thought the important definition of suicide
was that the perpetrator killed himself, or herself.  So how is it that Glen
was, or
is
, implicated?”

“That’s still open.”

“Do you mean that the police investigation is still open,
or you haven’t managed to pin it on him?”  Buoyed by Conrad’s silence, Devlin
continued.  “I’ll assume then that the Police don’t think that the suicides
were anything out of the ordinary.”  He felt his anger rising that he’d allowed
himself to be taken into a fairy-tale.  “What a waste of time!”

Conrad found a voice.  “You don’t think the suicide rate
of those that work for him is even remotely interesting?”

“It’s a stressful job.  Glen and everyone else have been
up-front with me about that from the beginning.  Based on David and what you’ve
been telling me, clearly I need to get out before I burn-out!”

“Devlin,” Conrad began with a condescending tone. 
“Futures trader and air traffic controller. 
They
are stressful jobs. 
You and your reader mates only read emails.  You get to sit in your little
bombproof box, read emails, and for this you are overpaid.  That doesn’t
constitute anywhere near enough stress to warrant such a high suicide rate
amongst employees!  Dumb I can handle, and you wouldn’t be the first to not
believe me, but don’t be so naïve!”

Devlin took a deep breath to begin his retort, but the
momentary pause also gave him time to reflect and think.  Conrad had a point. 

“I’m deadly serious about this, particularly as I’m not
absolutely sure that they were suicides.  But I may never prove that much.”

“David looked like a suicide to me.”

“Would you know?  Whatever your background, I doubt you
could tell.”

“Are you thinking Glen?”

Conrad smiled.  “I’m happy that I’ve at least got you
thinking.  But as much as I hate the prick, sadly he can’t be responsible for
all of them.  I know that he was out of the country for at least two reader’s
deaths.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.  I have access to virtually all Police systems,
state and federal, and the systems that each interface with.  He was definitely
out of the country when at least a few of the bodies were discovered, and also
when the coroner’s report confirmed their time of death.”

Devlin thought some more, his arrogant confidence now
absent.  “So what now?”

“I’ve been so fixated on making a convert out of you that
I’m not entirely sure.  Will you help me?”

“I can hardly say no can I?” said Devlin.  “It sounds like
I stand to gain more than you.”

“Fine.  Go now and I’ll be in touch.”

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 38.
               
 

Too tired to stay awake and too anxious to drift off,
Devlin was in that restless no-man’s land between being alert and asleep.  He
thought about David and his passing for a time, but the law of self-preservation
inevitably made him focus on Conrad and what he’d said.  The more he thought
about it, the more he was convinced of only one thing; that he didn’t really
know anything for certain. 

When there was a knock at the door, he was both thankful
for the distraction and angry for the interruption.  It was 5am and only after
acknowledging the time did it dawn on him how little sleep he’d actually got. 
He cautiously opened the door to the hotel manager insistent on entering his
room.

“You might want to look at this,” the manager said,
handing over the early morning edition of the newspaper.

Devlin was about to challenge the necessity for such a
personalised delivery service, when he registered his own image on the front
page.  Crystal clear, the picture showed him crossing the road outside of
Tania’s apartment by the looks of things.  Had a child’s playground not been
clearly visible in the background it wouldn’t have warranted any
photo-journalistic merit.  But the swings were there, as were several children;
at least
their
faces were hidden or obscured. 

Deep down he knew this would come; that he’d be identified
and tracked down.  Moving interstate might have bought him time, but it
wouldn’t buy him absolution.  His acquittal was old news, but his label would
persist and apparently follow him for some time to come.  Political and
geographic boundaries would not stop the transmission of information.

“The media are waiting in the lobby, so you might want to
steer clear,” offered the manager.

“Does this mean you want me gone?” Devlin asked, expectant
of the answer.

“Not at all.  Glen pays me well to look after such
matters, and in the meantime, the hotel will make a fortune selling coffee to
them.”

“Thanks.”

“Reporters, paedophiles.  You know they’re not that
dissimilar.”

Devlin ignored the comment.  He was too tired to bite. 

“You know, you’re not the first,” the manager said, no
doubt seeing the disappointment in Devlin.  “Glen attracts them, like puppies.”

“What?  Reporters or paedophiles?”

“Neither.  Most of his people have a history that tends to
attract media attention, given half the opportunity.  Perhaps time with Glen
gives them the chance to lie low so they can get on when the heat dies off.”

“Maybe, but in the meantime I’m trapped here.”

“Don’t worry about that.  We’ve got more than one service
entrance for just such a … service.”

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 39.
               
 

Albert woke, as ever, to his watch alarm.  His watch was
his last possession, and not while there was breath in his body would he part
with it, even if those breaths were laboured and his body effectively pickled. 
Waking each night to the alarm was his small ritual of remembrance.  It made
him remember his friend.

With each bloodied lung oyster that Albert coughed up and
either spat out or swallowed, he thought of his friend.  Robert.  Rob.  They
were more than friends, but Rob had a family before they realised it.  Closeted
for as long as they were, it was never going to happen.  Their friendship, he
never once called it love, was restricted to stealthy meetings and a casual
knowing between them.  Moonlighting together gave them extra time, but not
really any additional opportunities.

The night of the fire was cold.  They’d taken it in turns
to wander the facility then warm themselves in the office, sharing only five
minutes or so together watching TV before swapping roles.  That was the way it
was.  This division of time gave them each a balance of companionship and time
to think.  Rob would get time to think of his family and manage his guilt,
while Albert would consider how his life would be shattered if their secret
ever surfaced. 

Ten minutes earlier, Albert himself could have been the
one killed.  Oxidising substances and limited ventilation; the post incident
report said it was inevitable, sooner or later.  He couldn’t blame foul play or
terrorists, it was just fate that took away his friend.  Fate is cruel too.  It
took away his friend and denied a family a father and husband. 

When Albert received a LastGasp’ message from his friend Rob,
he was very appreciative.  Glen hand delivered it, and when he later read it in
private he was even more thankful.  That Rob wanted to share what Albert meant
to him was special, but he feared for how the message would be received if read
by anyone in the force.  One of the last bastions of homophobia, the Police
force would not take too kindly to him if he was covertly outed.  As it was,
he’d been completely isolated after the incident.  Perhaps they’d worked it
out.  Perhaps his secret was still a secret.

The message that Albert received was different to the one
that Rob’s wife received.  Albert tried to keep in touch with Rob’s family, his
wife in particular, but she wasn’t interested.  Whether she resented that she
was now without a partner while Albert was still alive or some other reason was
irrelevant.  She did, however, share the message that
her
Robert sent. 
Content aside, the tone in her message was different.  He expected differences
obviously, but when he read them both, it was clear that he could not account
for the differences with any simple psychological struggle.  He knew in an
instant that the two messages had been drafted by two people.  He felt
confident at least in the authenticity of his message; it was too human, too Rob.

He raised the matter with Glen immediately.  The realist
in him understood that Glen would have read his message when he delivered it,
and the odds were that he’d have read the other one too.  Glen was sombre, and that
little bastard Sam, before he changed his name, had that smug look about him. 
Glen disregarded his concerns, despite Albert’s insistence.  As he recalled it,
Sam revelled in Albert’s efforts to explain how he knew something wasn’t
right.  It was hard for him to make a point without drawing attention to his
own message for comparison.

A casual comment from Sam changed everything.  “Of course
it makes you think which of Rob’s messages are actually from him, doesn’t it?” 
Albert remembered the knowing way that Sam raised his eyebrows and stared at
him, watching for his reaction.  Albert understood immediately that Sam knew
about Rob’s message.  He tried to consider that maybe, just maybe, Sam had
simply only read Rob’s messages.  He tried to take comfort in what he knew of
LastGasp’ security. 

Glen made to silence Sam like a child, but the comment had
been made.  The damage was done.  He asked Sam to repeat what he’d said, as if
he hadn’t heard correctly. 

“Don’t you wonder what could be said in your message?” Sam
asked.

It changed everything. 

                                                                                                                                                        
Chapter - 40.
               
 

Despite being awake the entire night thinking about
matters as he understood them, Devlin decided that he needed to be upfront with
Glen.  Beyond this, he wasn’t entirely clear on what he wanted to know.

Glen opened the door at LastGasp’ with a friendly smile
and “What did Conrad tell you?”

“I’d like to talk to you about that too,” Devlin replied.

Glen blanked the bank of televisions in the lounge room and
began his own line of questioning, not waiting until Devlin was actually
seated.  “What did he say?”

“Aside from the fact that I’m more than a little surprised
that you even knew that we’d met, he just wanted to warn me, I guess.  And for
the record, ‘
Yes’
I was going to tell you and talk to you about it. 
That’s why I’m here so early.”

“You’re here early because you couldn’t sleep.  I can see
the fatigue in your eyes.”  Glen drank of his coffee, not seeking any
confirmatory response.  “But I’m not your keeper, and you’re free to meet with
him obviously.  I’m just interested in what he told you, and more importantly
how you responded based on what I told you yesterday.”