The cold case of jack ge.., p.14
The Cold Case of Jack Gemini, page 14
I slipped into the stairwell and retrieved a cigarette. If I was going to try and accomplish the feat of reaching the top floor, I needed a smoke first. And a smoke before meeting Gary Emmerson. He was hard work sometimes. I lit up. It probably wasn’t the wisest decision, and I wasn’t supposed to be a smoker anymore, but it was necessary.
I took a deep drag and spent some time enjoying my cigarette before braving the stairs and making my way to the top floor.
I was damned exhausted by the time I reached Emmerson’s apartment. The door opened as I approached; I hadn’t had a chance to catch my breath, yet. Goddammit.
“Come in,” I heard Gary call from within.
I was sweating, tired. And I craved another cigarette.
Gary Emmerson certainly didn’t live in filth. But he did live in mess. A hoarder. Papers, as much as the medium was rare to see these days, boxed and shelved documents and folders lined the halls and rooms of the apartment, squeezed into any available space, forced into every orifice of the apartment. It seemed organised, with colour codes and numbered signs, but it was still untidy.
The man was waiting for me in his living room, or at least what seemed to be a living room, it certainly looked lived in, and as I approached, he stood and almost toppled a pile of paper next to him. Seating was vague, at best, and I managed to find a space in the carnage he’d pointed to. I took a look around as I made myself comfortable. Everything was so... busy. It wasn’t just that the room was filled with papers, but there were multiple SmartBoy screens, within reach of Emmerson, floating in situ or flashed against what little wall space remained. Some had what looked like complicated code. Others played silent videos, the news, weather, animation. It was a cacophony of images. The biggest screen, on the wall to my left, displayed the silenced images of a news report about the copycat killer; it was the same report I’d heard in the café yesterday.
“What’ll it be, Jack?” said Gary.
“Huh?” I hadn’t realised he’d spoken.
“Sugar?” A pair of tongs holding a sugar cube hovered over an ornate china teacup. The cup, flowery and delicate, perched perilously on a stack of files, seemed out of character for Emmerson. In fact, the tea set made me think of Dionne Bex; she’d served tea at the hospital in Sector Eight. Fancy cups.
“Four. No, five.”
Gary raised an eyebrow as the cubes tinkled against the sides of the empty cup. He retrieved a teapot from somewhere amongst the piles and poured hot brown liquid over the sugar. Tea. It had a strong, pungent smell and was likely great quality, knowing Gary. I wondered why people kept insisting on serving me goddamned tea.
“Better make that six,” I said.
He filled his own cup and deposited another sugar cube into mine. If I was going to be cordial, I needed the sweetness to disguise this vile concoction. Milk followed.
“You know,” said Gary, “you still haven’t told me if you’re from a parallel world or not?” The question was a little out of the blue, although not completely unexpected. It must’ve been playing on the man’s mind. “Last time we met, you told me you’d tell me the answer.”
I lifted my cup and took a sip. Vile. “I didn’t say when; I just said I we would talk about another time.”
“Now is another time.” He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes.”
“Yes, it is another time? Or yes, you are from another world?”
I grinned. “I see they still haven’t found the copycat killer,” I said, changing the subject. I nodded at the wall where news of the killer was still being played out. “That’s a lot of people dead. Augustus Smith has much to answer for.”
“I’m sure he’s hoping he’ll be forgiven for his actions, somehow.”
“You think he’s still alive?”
“I know he is,” said Emmerson.
“Why in hell do you think that? The police are pretty certain it’s a...”
“You don’t seriously think it’s a copycat, do you?” He pointed to the wall. “That’s the real thing, the real Augustus Smith. He was never dead. What do you think happened to the Emerald Killer after he disappeared?”
“I was hoping he was dead,” I said. “And why do you think he’d want to be forgiven? I mean, if there’s no copycat, he hasn’t stopped killing.”
“Maybe he’ll stop once he’s forgiven?” Gary drank from his own cup. “I mean, we all have some dark things in our pasts. Some more than most. Does that mean we can’t be forgiven, can’t atone?”
“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying, he’s still killing!” I realised I’d stood. I sat, a little embarrassed. “If that’s really him.” Gary Emmerson really was batshit crazy; Augustus Smith still killing? Really? “Ha! Forgiveness!”
“It is him. I know it. And I understand, but that doesn’t change the fact that forgiveness can go a long way. Maybe that’s all he needs... all he needs to stop.”
“Forgiveness for murder?”
Emmerson nodded. “Yes.”
“And what about his other crimes? Augustus Smith is, at least in some way, responsible for my accident.”
“That time vortex thing?” He finished what remained of his beverage and the china tinkled as he placed the cup in its saucer.
“I lost five years of my life!” My own teacup was still full, I’d only imbibed the teeniest of sips, and decided I should probably drink more, not to be rude. I needed his cooperation after all. “I mean, he’s not completely responsible but he certainly led me to my fate.” I picked up my cup and took a hefty gulp; the sugar didn’t disguise enough of the taste.
“So, not his fault at all then?”
“If I hadn’t chased him into the Tribeca building, I wouldn’t have gotten caught up in the time vortex!”
“Yeah, but he didn’t exactly push you in, right?”
“I guess not.”
“Which brings us back around to my earlier question...” He lifted the teapot toward me. “More?”
I shook my head in response. I knew where this was going.
“The time vortex wasn’t just a time vortex.” It was a statement, not a question; Emmerson knew more than he let on. He topped up his cup and tipped in a little milk. “It’s got something to do with parallel dimensions.”
“I can’t confirm that.”
The man opposite grinned and leant back into the papers and files where he sat. “Your lack of answer speaks volumes.”
“Does it?” I took another sip of the abhorrent brew. “I have a question for you.”
“Go on.”
“You were at the Church of the Third Encounter last night. I’m wondering why.”
At first he seemed shocked by my statement, but that changed; Gary stifled a giggle. “I can’t confirm that.”
“I know you were there.”
He shrugged. He was goddamned smirking.
“I guess we all have secrets.” Damned bastard. Why wouldn’t he just tell me? I saw him. We saw him. Me, and Regan. And I already knew about his obsession, but something just wasn’t right about the whole thing. Who was he there to see? “Do you know Emmett Greene?” I asked.
“Maybe we’re related. Brothers. Maybe not. Maybe he hired me to do some work for him. Or maybe I’m dating him. Or just friends.” He was bullshitting me, trying to push my buttons. “Of course, I might not know him at all. Strangers. No connections at all.” He laughed. “Actually, you know what, I’ll tell you another time.”
Goddammit. “Fine.” Gary Emmerson should know by now that I always find out the truth. Or it slaps me round the face before I see it coming. Either way, I’d get to know why he was really there. Eventually.
“I guess it’s time to get down to business.” The other man sighed. He reached into his trouser pocket and retrieved what I was there for. He held up two memory cards. “This is what you need?”
“Yeah.” I was tempted to keep pressing him for more information about his connections to the cult, but I’d be pressing my luck more than anything else. I needed access to the hospital database more than I needed to know about Gary’s shady dealings.
“This will let you, and your friend,” he raised an eyebrow, “into a secure area of a hospital. A Sector Seven or Sector Eight hospital will probably be best since they tend to be a little more lax with their security.”
I thanked him and took the cards from his hand. “What about...?”
“They’ll also give you access to the databases, as promised. I can’t hack them remotely so you’ll need to find either a server room or a data input point.”
“I know what to look for; this isn’t my first rodeo,” I said. “Usual fee?”
His eyes squinted and brow furrowed, and strange expression passed over his face. Was that guilt? “No charge,” he said.
“Seriously?”
He nodded. “Call it a gift.”
“A gift?” I wasn’t going to argue; there weren’t many things you could get in life for free and I wasn’t going to turn this down. Still, it was suspicious. How much could I really trust him? Was our relationship, the professional relationship I’d developed with him, only a sham?
“I insist.”
I took them. Despite my suspicions I knew the memory cards would work. Integrity was highly valued in the community in which Emmerson operated; if your tech didn’t work, you wouldn’t get any business. And it could get you killed. Some crime bosses relied on the stuff. No, the cards would work.
And I did need them.
Damn it.
I had to trust him on this, but I couldn’t trust his actions last night and his connections to the Church and Greene.
And this was the first time he’d ever offered something for free.
Odd. Damned odd. Suspicious.
I left, my mind swirling with thoughts of my encounter with Gary Emmerson and thoughts of what I needed to do next.
18. Faces
This evening it was all going to be about The Victor. It was about Queenie and her missing artwork, that hideous cephalopodic creation; it was about getting to the bottom of the case I’d promised to solve.
It was about goddamned time I got a goddamned break.
Regan’s dealings with the Church of the Third Encounter were on hold, for now. We couldn’t progress much further with it until Gary Emmerson’s actions had dissipated their security. In the meantime, all I had was the lead provided by Graves.
The face change.
I had no choice but to trust Emmerson’s integrity, and with Regan tagging along, we headed to the hospital in Sector Eight, hacked memory cards entrusted to my jacket pocket. It was only recently I was here, meeting his mother, amongst other things. It didn’t feel like I’d been away. Old wounds hurt, both the physical and psychological. And the fate of Graves’ daughter weighed heavily on my mind.
“We’re going in through the front door?” said Regan.
I shook off my fugue and nodded in response. “It’s late evening; it would be far more suspicious for us to try and sneak in at this time.” I’d applied some make-up to try and hide the visible injuries on my face. My black eye and busted nose weren’t completely hidden but they were covered enough to deter questions. “Better to approach this head on.” My battered face would only be noticeable in bright light and close up. “At least for now.”
“We should have come here in the middle of the night.”
“This is Sector Eight. You know what sort of place this is; you’ve been undercover here. It isn’t well off. People aren’t in hospital for falling off a ladder while trimming the petunias. Nope. About half the people admitted are here because of crime, domestic or otherwise. Stab wounds, gunshots, broken bones, you name it, it’s here. The other half are here from being injured while on the job. Cops,” I said as I pointed to an officer who just so happened to be standing near the entrance, smoking, “hang around here nearly all the time, more so the later it gets.”
“More crime happens at night?”
“No,” I said. The automatic doors slid open as we entered the emergency department. “Most crime happens in the daytime in the places you’re accustomed too. It’s just most of the violent stuff happens when there’s drink or drugs involved. At least, that’s what’s true of Sector Eight.”
“I’m guessing that jab about daytime is aimed at my mother?”
“It’s the damned truth is what it is.” I led Regan through the bloodied and injured veterans of the evening and to a corridor to the right of the main reception desk; the waiting room stank of sweat and urine and I could almost taste the metallic flavour of blood on my tongue. A pretty, but exhausted and bedraggled, nurse eyed us as we passed. “White collar crime.”
“I can’t argue with you.” He placed his hand on my shoulder and smiled. We were outside the escalator. “I mean, you know first-hand what my mother is like.”
I pushed the button to call our metal carriage. “Only too well.”
“You...er... didn’t...?”
“What?” The lift doors opened, and we entered the small space.
“You know?”
“No!” The doors swished shut and I pressed for the highest floor, swiping my chipped SmartBoy to gain access. “I can’t believe you’d think that.” The top floor was where the data servers were and a floor or two above where I’d had my meeting with Ms Bex. “There’s no chance in damned hell that would ever happen! Me... and your mother?! Ergh!”
“I really wish I hadn’t brought it up,” he muttered. “At least that means that you... and I...”
I laughed. “Don’t forget I’m seeing someone.” The doors opened and I gestured for Regan to exit first, admittedly this was so I could peek at his behind. I think he knew it too; he left the elevator with a coy grin, a raised eyebrow and a swish on his hips.
It was quiet on this floor, dark too, until the automatic lights flickered to life, but even they were dim. Most admin was carried out in the daytime and there was no need for anyone to be up here at this time. Not that people came up here often anyway.
“Spooky,” whispered Regan. He moved a little closer to me and I put my arm around his shoulder. I could feel him shivering; I was cold too. There was a time when computers and terminals gave off a lot of heat. These days, it was quite the opposite, and I welcomed his warmth despite the invasion of my personal space.
“Keep an eye out for any security robots; the access memory cards I acquired aren’t likely to affect them, they’re a little too stupid, and they can be an absolute pain to deal with. There’s likely only one. Budget cuts. Be vigilant, I might be wrong.”
“Understood.”
Most of these rooms held servers, backed up and connected to the station-wide network. Other rooms, empty rooms. were used for data entry, desks with rarely used SmartBoy terminals. But, of course, anyone in the hospital could access the databases from the terminals on the other floors, as long as they had the proper credentials; it didn’t need to be up here. Gary had provided credentials to me, to us, however, to remain as untraceable as possible, I needed access from one the terminals in these desolate rooms. Direct access to the main servers of this hospital. Not only would it be away from prying eyes and cameras, but I also wouldn’t need to log in with any sort of username from up here.
We reached the end of the hall and I pulled us into a room off to the right. It should’ve been locked but wasn’t. This was Sector Eight after all.
Machinery hummed and a multitude of lights flickered and flashed as data moved along wires and circuits. Pinpoints of distant stars twinkling; who would’ve thought the night sky would be contained within a hospital in Sector Eight? This starry room was connected to everything medical, hard wired into the network connecting all the hospitals on Space Station Delta. There was even some connection to Solaris University. For research, apparently. I held no doubts that the information held within the medical databases was somehow being used to exploit or otherwise oppress those considered to be the lower classes, the poor and the marginalised groups. There was truly nothing I could do about it. Big business controlled every aspect of human life. And they damned made things were kept that way.
“It’s kinda romantic, don’t you think?” said Regan. He was stood behind me, but I could tell he was grinning. “It’s like there’s a hundred candles twinkling all around us.”
I agreed but stayed silent; I didn’t want to, couldn’t flirt with the other man.
“All we need now is some soft music and a delicious meal.”
I said nothing. I took a seat at a terminal near the back of the room.
“What do you say?”
I shrugged in reply as I connected my SmartBoy into the access slot; it seemed Regan was in a flirty mood. I wasn’t, or rather, I was, but there was Queenie to consider.
“Jack?” I felt his hands on my shoulders and I wanted them to stay; his touch was warm, comforting. “What are you hoping to find?”
“Someone died for this lead,” I said. “I need to know it was worth it.” I didn’t mention Graves’ daughter.
“I’m sorry, Jack.” He squeezed my shoulder as he sat in the chair to my right. “I didn’t know. When you told me about your injuries, you didn’t...?”
“I didn’t want to talk about it.” The blue screen flickered to life in the air in front of me, casting azure illumination in the room and corrupting the night sky of the servers. “One of my informants...” I took a deep breath and sighed; I didn’t want to feel like this, not now. “She...”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said. His hand hadn’t left my shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it now. Or ever, if you don’t want to. I’m here. You can tell me about it when, if, you’re ready.”
I shook away his touch. “I need to find The Victor,” I said. “That’s the only way I can make amends.” I needed to wait a moment while Emmerson’s memory card did the work of accessing the database. I looked over to the other man and smiled. “But thank you, Regan.”
