People in Season (19 page)

‘Excuse me?’

Hesitant, he tries to push forward, but afraid of losing his advantage, he elaborates, ‘You’re missing a card.’

Ava is heard smiling, seemingly understanding where he might have picked up the phrase. ‘That Wong guy really got to you. Is that all he was looking for? A card?’

Alistair doesn’t know what to make of her response. His comment, meant to ridicule, was one picked up from the detective. There’s nothing particularly revealing about it. Clearly, Ava has demonstrated otherwise. Somehow she managed to make the connection, and now, with his silence he’s confirmed it for her. Glum, he gives up on imagining what it might mean and tries steering the conversation back into territory he can control. ‘Among other things, Ava. Anyway, you’re missing the point of all this.’

‘Oh?’

‘Your life is in my hands.’

Clicking her tongue, she goes back to painting her toenails. ‘And yours in mine, Doctor Evans...’

Alistair’s dumb response is taken as evidence that he doesn’t know what she’s implying.

‘Listen, do you think I wanted it to end between us? Like this? At the instigation of other people’s problems? It frustrates me too. I’ve never been so angry. But it would be silly to pretend there’s another option. All of this drama in the office is seriously becoming a chore, but I’m taking it in my stride. So, before you go and have one of your hissy fits, take my reaction as an example of appropriate behaviour and remember, if one of us goes down, so does the other. You can’t hurt me without hurting yourself.’

‘Mutually assured destruction,’ he sneers.

‘That’s right.’

‘You really are untouched.’

Stillness on her end of the line betrays her concern. It’s the only thing he’s said that worries her. ‘You know I used to be so good at making people laugh, Alistair. You wouldn’t believe it, would you? When I was a kid, that was me, the class clown. I’m not really into jokes, but people are just so easy to tickle...’ Up to this point, everything Ava said was something for Alistair to compete with, now though, she sounds almost human to him, something to be granted empathy. If he was in the same room as the woman, Alistair might see her mind’s eye go inward in search of answers about herself. Coming up with nothing though, she’s provoked back to reality. ‘Then I got older, and well, who needs to be funny when you’re beautiful, right?’

‘You’re not all that special,’ Alistair jabs at her childishly. ‘Why are you telling me this sob story? If you’ve dumped me I shouldn’t have to listen to this stuff.’

Not hearing him, she mumbles, ‘The whole office is being scanned tomorrow.’

‘The newsroom?’

‘Yeah.’

‘But if you get tested and they say you’re UPD...’

‘Mhmm,’ she sing-songs. ‘It will all connect back to you.’

Digesting the fact that his interests are on the line tomorrow, the first thing that occurs to him is to return to her apartment and cut off the head that might be scanned. The only thing he’s unsure of in this plan is whether or not a severed brain can be analysed as UPD, though the concern is quickly dismissed as he decides that it can’t be that hard to hide a head, after all, it’s not like he’d have to get rid of the whole body. A sports bag and a brick would be enough to sink it in the canal.

Reading his mind, Ava takes some pride in revealing that she predicted such a reaction, ‘I’m not so stupid as to stay in my own place tonight, Alistair. I had a nice massage earlier and I’m about to order room service. You could ring around Dublin searching all the hotels, but it’s not likely that I checked in under my own name. I suggest you just wait with the rest of us and see what happens. I don’t like it anymore than you do, but this is where we’re at.’

Taking this roundhouse punch, the doctor is left seeing stars.

‘You can keep the watch Alistair, I’m sure you’ll do well with it.’

Disconcerted, he falters backward. The future is out of his control, but surely the present is still within his grasp. ‘You can’t dump me!’ he shouts, panicked, ‘I decide when it’s over! You think a message is enough to end it? We have a connection! It’s special! If you don’t think so, I’ll make you! You know I can, you know what I can do! You’ve heard about the people I’ve killed. I’ve done more than that. And I can do a lot more. I know what happened! Don’t think I can’t make life hard for you, Ava, I can do very bad things when I’m angry, you’ll be lucky if I don’t cut your face off after this, run a knife into your spine, I can do it, and more, you have no idea–’

‘Alistair,’ Ava says, taking pause at the outburst. The words spilled from him with such ease it’s as if he’s been nourishing them from the start, that all this time she has merely been distracting him from the desire and that truly his secret joy would be to revel in slowly killing her. ‘I’ve recorded everything you said. Leave me alone or I’ll have it find its way into the open.’

‘You little snitching cunt! That’s not going to stop me doing whatever I fucking want! I’ll rip your throat out of your neck, Ava, you bitch, I’ll, I’ll–’ He goes on for a while longer, until after a time it’s apparent that she hung up some while ago and that he’s been attempting to terrorise a dial tone. Like a dog barking at the moon, nothing has been accomplished but his own ego reassured. She’s frightened of me, he tells himself, that’s why she’s hiding. Well, to hell with her. Tomorrow everyone in her office will be scanned, and not a single soul, least of all Ava O’Dwyer, can escape it.

On arriving at work, the dishevelled journalists discovered that the office they knew, while unaltered from the day previous, was now an altogether different environment, one in which amnesty was in short supply. In sharp morning light, the fetid sentiment grew – the newsroom was no longer their own. Agent Myers had set up the hardware for UPD scanning in the conference room. A laptop, a hand sized pad, and box of disposable attachments made up his inventory. Nobody had seen anything that looked like electric shock equipment, but it was in there – somewhere – and none of them were thrilled with the idea. Agent Myers, seen now through the glass, is pacing, on call with somebody, snickering, then stoic as he arranges himself at the laptop, puts on a theatrical air. In other workplaces he had processed, the social agent could always depend on complete privacy in the hours leading up to a scan shift, to the point that even with an open door, nobody would poke their head in with transparent excuses such that they were looking for papers, lost pens of sentimental worth, or even a water cooler they knew very well was by the main entrance. But Agent Myers has never operated in a newsroom and in the time he has taken to prep, all of these things have happened, one after another, like children taking turns to peep into a haunted house, they tiptoed around him and legged it off in nervous excitement. The urgent reports they brought back were confirmations that they have been invaded, and all of their remarks, spread in a game of Chinese whispers, trickled their way to Joanne, who, a nervous wreck in her office, is in danger of dying of a nicotine overdose. Clad in a black blazer, she’s dressed for a funeral, expecting it’s going to be herself toppled into the grave being dug.

‘This must be a relief for you at least,’ Ava warms up to Detective Wong.

‘How do you mean?’ he smiles in spite of himself.

‘I’d expect it takes some of the pressure off.’

Just the opposite, he thinks. ‘You seem more relaxed yourself.’

‘It should sort out a few things, shouldn’t it? I don’t know why we couldn’t have just skipped to the scan in the first place. It would have saved us all the bother.’

Tiredly deciding to indulge her, Dylan explains, ‘Invasion of privacy. Probable cause is needed. The results of personality tests are generally the means of attaining it. Things having panned out the way they have, well–’ he shrugs, jaded at calling to mind the death of Agent Mullen to justify all that is to happen. ‘You wouldn’t let somebody strut into your house without a warrant and sit by as they inspect your living arrangements. Why let them into your brain?’ They stand for a time, watching the social agent, and pass no comment on the elaborate process in which he shows such flourish. When they lose interest in the act, Dylan remembers he had something to quiz Ava about. Scratching the spidery stubble under his nose, he asks, ‘I don’t suppose you thought Susan Ward had anything against Agent Mullen?’

‘Who?’ Ava pouts in an attempt to recollect.

‘She was let go. I heard you two were close.’

‘An intern, I suppose. You do a favour for one of these kids and they never forget it. I couldn’t guess how many of them think I’m going to help them hit the big time,’ Ava smirks, and brightened, she brushes the detective’s arm. ‘I’ve been so glad you’re here during all of this. You’ve covered every detail, it’s been a pleasure to watch. Everything was such a mess until your arrival. We should have a chat when it’s all over. Get acquainted under more convivial circumstances.’

The invitation is hardly one he can miss, however understated her phrasing might be. Normally, Dylan would know to back away from such a suggestion, it’s just that he has been spending a lot of time on the family couch of late, and her bed is probably a lot more comfortable... Silly thoughts. If nothing else though, he’s grateful for the distraction. ‘Maybe,’ he says, putting off the decision for now.

‘To be continued,’ she says and strolls her editor’s direction.

Titillated, Dylan can’t help thinking what an unusual woman she is. Placidly observant, she seems set on registering the subdued nervousness simmering in the room. If he was to choose a word to describe her mood, he’d probably settle on exhilarated, but then everybody is on edge in one way or another. He doesn’t have to go far in search of the reason. The obvious explanation is the imminent scanning process to which they’ll be submitted. What seems to separate her from the rest though, is an awareness of the key change which has crystallised today. The detective who once dominated the investigation, is now sitting dejected in a chair by the break room as Agent Myers takes lead. Dylan is finished. The picture he’d managed to draw in the short time he was allotted featured a plethora of suspects but even more dead ends. Barry Danger’s warning blooms freshly in the detective’s memory: I wouldn’t put it past anyone in here. Not a single person had been ruled out, and in a job where most of the work is eliminating possibilities, this left him with nothing but the unconfirmed sighting of Joanne at Agent Mullen’s flat in the days before he died. If Dylan had a day or two more he would happily pull at that loose thread if only to cross her off his list. Such luxury is not allowed the modern policeman. The word had come down: Let Agent Myers do his work in peace. Dylan tossed and turned throughout the night, frantically putting together theories until, disgusted – it all stank of the conspiracy theory of a lunatic – he forced himself to close his eyes, and if not sleep, at least stop thinking. He is exhausted. Lost in the folds of the case, it is going to be down to a computer and the man who operates it to tell them who to put on trial. When the suggestion from his department chief arrived on his phone, that the ball was in the UPD services’ court, he took it for the order it was. His presence in the office today is a joke, and he would have skipped it altogether if only for the insistence of his superior. The Garda are still in charge of this case, is the message Detective Wong is to send. Like a toothless old lion’s roar, it seems more like a yawn.

In this spirit, Dylan has been accompanied by four low ranking police officers. Presently, two of them are escorting Barry to the conference room. The gawky English journalist is the first to be tested. Agent Myers is standing at the door to offer a welcoming hand into the room. As he gets frisked for weapons, Barry is short on things to say for once, his face even becoming obscenely flushed as the office watches. To disguise his embarrassment, when the Garda nod that he’s clean and Agent Myers allows him entry, he jerks around and shouts, ‘My Dad always said I needed electro shock therapy. I’ll get him to turn it up to eleven!’

Dylan finds himself giving the journalist an automatic smile as he’s ushered away. He questions himself afterward why he did that, like Barry had pushed a button and triggered the gesture, but doesn’t brood on it long. Instead, he becomes distracted by a confused group of firemen that peter through the door. At the head of the group, one man grips an axe, prepared for an emergency that doesn’t yet exist. In a quiet lull, the office takes pause to note the addition to their already surreal day. Dumbfounded, they return to their work, effected only for the seconds it takes them to clock each other’s reactions. Dylan is the lone person compelled to ask why the fire fighters have arrived. Sidling over, he shows them his ID.

‘You guys a little lost?’

‘You tell me,’ the swarthy man, gripping his axe a little tighter, suspects he’s the butt end of a prank. ‘We got a call from your department saying we might be needed.’

‘Needed for what?’ Dylan asks the general gathering, and shakes his head in exasperation when he doesn’t get an answer. He can imagine the panicked messages between his boss and other desk jockeys that ended with a call for the presence of firemen at a series of brain scans. Only in Dublin. The lead fireman, equally irritated, twitches a mouth just barely visible under his greying moustache as he awaits instruction. ‘Make yourselves at home. We’re doing some UPD processing.’

‘Why are there so many of you guys? And what’s with the paramedics outside?’

Preoccupied, the detective mutters, ‘I guess they think there might be more than one person to arrest.’

The banter provides some respite from the tension, but it forms again in a minute as the firemen’s heads all go to the impenetrable door Dylan gestured to, behind which Agent Myers is testing Barry, that sad laughing clown, and where they half expect the shrill screams of a tortured man to sound out. Huddled together, small in their baggy overcoats and bulky helmets, the firemen look like children playing dress-up in daddy’s work clothes. When nothing happens, they return their attention to the detective who sidles over to his seat. With a staff of suspect journalists pretending to work and a couple of bored street cops stood about, Dylan waits, his attention dully focused on the conference room from where fates are doled.

Set on the cubicle in front of him, a Bobblehead Barry peers down.

Joanne and Ava are stood outside her office, their backs against the wall. The editor is chain smoking and blinking at Ava’s words, who in a business suit and minimal make up, is evidently taking things very seriously as they watch the room Barry entered. In there, Joanne sees a nightmare. In there, Ava sees just another box, holding another man.

‘If he isn’t untouched, I can’t be either. What if I am though? That doesn’t mean I did anything bad.’

‘You’re not untouched Joanne,’ Ava assures her. ‘Don’t let the bigger case get to you. At the end of the day you’re going to be walking back into your office to run ChatterFive.’

‘Thanks darling.’

As Joanne rubs a smushed eyelash off her cheek, she locks eyes with Dylan and the detective salutes her, prompting her to jump like she’s been caught with a gun in her hand, and dropping the imaginary weapon, she looks away. Ava gives the detective a good humoured purse of her lips and goes back to talking in her editor’s ear. They’re waiting for the lights to fade, a cry for help from Barry, anything to let them know something is happening in there. Dylan had read over the procedure last night and is only glad that it’s not his job – though it might as well be at this stage. He feels like an obsolete cog in a very ugly machine. The pinch in his back makes it all the harder to bare. Arching in his seat, feeling a shooting pain go up his spine, he’s sadly aware it’s from his current sleeping arrangement. His home life bleeds into this work life like this, and his work life into his home. Today it’s been for naught and, as if to highlight the matter, Barry returns.

Lost in thought, Dylan doesn’t hear the door open. He notices the man’s presence only when the rattled typing of the newsroom abruptly comes to a halt. The screen alerts fill the office with cautious anticipation and the Garda, startled by the Englishman, take wide stances at his appearance.

Barry raises his hands, mute in his surprise at being caught in the spotlight.

‘I didn’t do it.’

Agent Myers arrives behind him and nods to the officers.

‘He’s clear.’

There’s a collective sigh of relief that’s at once replaced by anxious mumbles – If he’s clear what does that mean for us?

‘That didn’t take long,’ Joanne grunts.

‘Our man here is very efficient,’ Barry pats Agent Myers on the shoulder. ‘Gave me an STD test while we were at it.’

‘Not so clear there,’ Agent Myers chuckles.

As Barry wanders away from the door he looks at one of the young cops and lightly touches the fabric on his shirt. ‘Zap!’ he says. ‘Full of beans after that,’ and strolls away, ignoring the look of contempt on the Garda’s face. Stopping at his desk, he notices the firemen and does a double take in the hopes that there’s someone about who will share his amusement.

‘Bloody hell,’ he teases, ‘you set the fire alarm off again, Ava?’

The joke flounders and Ava in particular ignores it.

Dylan though, almost puts his back out.

‘Who wants to go next?’ Agent Myers’ face is plastered with a smarmy grin.

‘I’ll go,’ says Ava.

Dylan’s head swings her direction, penetrating what he once thought was the woman and now suspects is a mask. She gives Joanne a set of hurried goodbye kisses before her legs carry her away, hand smoothing her skirt as she goes. By the prowl in her step you’d think that she was a panther going to meet her prey.

‘It can’t be that bad if Barry’s still laughing.’

‘I’m a survivor,’ Barry jeers. ‘You’ll be coming out of there in handcuffs.’

As she’s being frisked down, Agent Myers, Joanne, Barry, everyone but Dylan in fact, politely look away. The detective is studying her, following every line of the body which the hands move over. She turns her head, sees him looking and displays her white gleaming teeth, pairing them with a wink when he doesn’t smile back. The officer at her ankles stands up for Agent Myers to allow her into the conference room, and then, just as Dylan realises his mouth has been hanging open, the agent locks him out.