When Kerrin left the outskirts of Miami, he had the beginnings of a rough plan in his mind. As a policeman turned journalist, over the years he had had his fill of conspiracy theories. Modern America was a paranoid nation. It seemed that every second person in the country believed that around every corner, behind every piece of news, or political event, some sinister conspiracy lay lurking in the shadows. Once upon a time, he too had even believed in such things.
But over the years, Kerrin had seen and been through a lot. From his years on the force, his work at the Post, and living through the pain of the car accident, his views on life had matured faster than most. He no longer believed in the 'greater plan', or the corporate monster wishing to devour and control every waking moment of the free individual. Instead he just believed in life. Day to day life. The fight for survival.
Conspiracy theories were the product of a nation gone mad on science fiction or fantasy magazines, a generation that was no longer able to find satisfaction in the day to day routine of everyday life.
People no longer took the initiative to fill their lives with interesting activities. Instead, happiness came from TV, alcohol or drugs, and when something went wrong with their own lives, when more than one or two bad things happened in quick succession, well …conspiracy theory!
Kerrin wasn't one of those people. It would take a lot for him to accept any form of conspiracy theory. On the face of it though, there did seem to be something fishy about the recent events surrounding the Gen8tyx Company, although he didn't yet know whether or not they were related to the explosion in his brother-in-law's plane. However, it struck him as odd that the air force had denied the existence of any military jets in the vicinity of Martin's plane when it had crashed. Normally the public liaison officers of the USAF would have co-operated openly with the sort of police request for information that James had made.
He thought about that a lot during the drive up to Orlando. The only witness to the jet being there was the testimony of the old fisherman. Reporters and policemen alike go a lot on their gut instinct, and Kerrin had no reason to believe that the old man had made it up. His instinct told him he was telling the truth. So why had the air force denied it? There could only be two reasons.
Firstly, the plane had been there on an exercise and the military could not admit it. Which was strange, because if it had been on a secret exercise it would surely have been easy to admit that 'an exercise had taken place but that they could not discuss the matter further'. That was standard procedure.
All things considered, the likelihood was that when they said there had been no exercises taking place at that time, they had told the truth.
Secondly, the other possibility was that the plane had been there, but no records had been kept of its flight. In which case the liaison officer at the base where the jet came from may not have known about it, and he could have been telling the truth. However, the order to authorise a flight and then make it disappear from the records would have had to come from someone very high up. Someone very high up indeed.
He played with his thoughts, mulling them over in his head as he drove, and the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Old Ben had not imagined what he saw.
The natural conclusion was that the plane had been there, but the air force had denied it. Which meant, that if he trusted his reasoning, the records of the flight had been deliberately lost: in other words someone had ordered a flight which the US Air Force kept no record of…
"Conspiracy Theory"…"Conspiracy Theory"…the words echoed in his brain. "Shit, this is getting me nowhere…," he swore to himself.
He pulled into a Denny's and ordered himself a salad and some coffee, sitting himself down in the corner away from the rest of the diners. He needed to think.
Okay, so he was suspicious of the events surrounding his brother-in-law's death, but before he would allow himself to make any link to the deaths of Martin's co-workers, all of which could have perfectly natural explanations, he needed to investigate them for himself.
Even if it did turn out that the team had been murdered and they had not committed suicide, who was to say that it had anything to do with the company they had just left? That would be too obvious.
According to what his sister had told him, there had been six members of the original core team that David Sonderheim, the founder of Gen8tyx, had brought together. Five were now confirmed dead. The other one was missing. If in the next few days he also wasn't found dead somewhere, Alex Swinton would become one of Kerrin's main suspects. He was either in hiding and in fear of his life, or he was running away, scared of being caught and probably guilty as sin. Either way, Kerrin would need to talk to him.
For now though, Kerrin needed to speak to the families of those that had died. He needed to find out for himself how they died, and ultimately, why?
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The request Kerrin had made to view the police reports of all those who had committed suicide in Orlando, combined with the question about the military jet, intrigued Captain James Callaghan of the Miami police department.
He knew how the mind of a policeman worked, and he knew that reporters didn't ask questions without a reason. So Kerrin, an ex-policeman and now a reporter, would have a very good reason. James would love to know what it was.
When he got back to the station, after dealing with a break-in at a local drugstore, he shut his office door and put in a call to his buddy over in Orlando.
"Hey Andy, how-ya-doing?"
"James, good to hear from you, man. What's up?"
"Oh, you know, just the same things…hey did you hear about that bank robbery down in the Keys last week? What did you make of that?"
"Shit, yeah, a kid of twelve walks into the local bank and holds them up? Shoots the bank manager and leaves?"
"Yeah, but did you hear the latest?"
"Nah,…what?"
"The bank manager was his uncle! They caught the kid…the uncle had been abusing him, and the boy had had enough. In a way, you can't blame him, can you?"
"No. Would have done the same myself…Bloody weirdoes…"
"Talking of weird shit…have you heard anything about four or five guys working for the same company in Orlando, who all committed suicide in the space of a week?"
There was a moment's pause at the other end of the line.
"Yeah, funny business…I had to go and interview one of the families myself. Pretty sad really, the guy lost his job, then injected himself with some drug one night in his old office…He left a note. Clear cut case really. Nothing suspicious… Why do you ask?"
"Oh, somebody from the same company got killed down here, and the wife reckons that somebody was murdering them all. Nothing to do with suicide…Say, mind if I take a look at the files myself?"
"Hell no, anything to help. Listen, I can fed-ex them to you this afternoon. You should have them first thing tomorrow. Is that fast enough?"
"Cheers. Owe you one buddy."
"You sure do."
His friend Andy in the Orlando force was a good man to have in a tight spot. When he had worked in Miami they'd been good friends.
About an hour later, James was sitting at his desk writing up a report from the morning's patrol, when the phone rang.
"Hey James, it's Andy."
"Problem?" James hadn't expected Andy to call back so soon.
"You could say that. Don’t know what to make of it either. All the files on those deaths have walked. Disappeared. No E5 forms filled out to say who took them. And on the computer system, the reports have all been given top security Federal access codes. I can't get into them without the passwords, and if I did, it would get flagged up automatically at the FBI offices in Tampa. I can't help you buddy, and I can't chase it without some questions being asked. Say, what's this about, James?"
"I don't know. Best leave it alone I guess."
"Well, I tried. So when are you going to pay us a visit?"
"Soon. Anyway I owe you one. Thanks."
James hung up, and turned to the window, getting up out of his chair and leaning against the window frame. Outside in the street some kid was writing his name on the sidewalk with a piece of chalk. He looked up and saw James watching him, then got up and ran away.
So why were the Feds interested? And where were the files? Files just don't go missing. There were procedures…if somebody borrowed a file, they left a form saying where they were, so others could get access to them too.
Something funny was going on, but unless Kerrin gave him something more to go on, there was little more he could do from this end. He would call Kerrin and give him what he had.
Kerrin already knew that if he needed more help, he only had to ask.
Chapter 8
Tom Calvert's House