It was a warm summer's evening and all the kids from his street were out playing together from six years old to ten .The older ones organising and marshalling the younger ones towards their common purpose. Girls and boys alike, too young for the gender politics to grab hold of them and separate them in their play. They had all moved into the partly built estate together, similar families looking to start similar lives with similar aged children. It was a moment in time for that street, where those children would be thrown together at that single point where they could all connect. All new to the neighbourhood and looking for friends so they spent those evenings playing together, one big gang, that was destined to evaporate but for a brief time it was the perfect mix of childhood collaboration.
That night's activity was the building of an underground den and all of the children helped as much as they could. Digging, carrying things and liberating supplies from the still active construction site of the other part constructed houses. All this happened long before modern health and safety practices would force the builders to secure the site.
What they really needed, so the oldest girl had instructed, was two large planks for the roof, and he had seen a pair that were perfect. On a house that was still being built, its walls just above the first storey there were two planks just the right length, being used as part of the scaffolding that encased it. So with all the bravery that a seven year old boy could muster he climbed the ladder to retrieve them, convinced that he would be hailed the hero for allowing them to complete their underground masterpiece. He strained and pulled at the first of the planks, not entirely certain how he would get them down, but sure that gravity would somehow help him. Then suddenly he fell back as both planks gave way, first coming towards him as he fell painfully on his backside then away from him, wrenching their way out of his weak grip as they fell, no longer suspended at their opposite end by the scaffold bar. They fell to the ground with a loud crash. The initial shock of the noise was soon replaced by an enormous sense of achievement in accomplishing his goal and he hastily scampered back around the corner of the house then carefully back down the ladder.
Safely back on ground level he ran back around the house to retrieve his prize and more importantly tell the others of his greatness. But as he turned the corner his mind was thrown into turmoil as he entered a chaotic scene, terrifying to his young mind. The older girls were screaming whilst the boys looked on ashen faced, younger siblings were already running for their parents houses and little Tommy was screaming loudest of all. The reason that he was screaming was because he was bleeding. Not just the typical bleeding of a childhood mishap, a scratched knee or cut finger, but an arc of blood that projecting from arterial damage. Literally spraying and spattering the wall of the part built house. All he could do was look on with total incomprehension as to what had occurred until slowly realisation dawned on him and with it everything went black.
Miller gasped and opened his eyes slowly focusing in the half-light, his forehead beaded in sweat. His body damp with perspiration making the silk sheets stick to his skin. Slowly his breathing calmed, whenever he was stressed or felt guilty about something the same dream came back to haunt him. When he had been just seven he had caused an accident that had seriously injured another child. He hadn't intended to and no one had ever discovered he had caused it. Little Tommy made a full recovery in just a few weeks and the episode had seemingly soon been forgotten, even by Miller himself. Except when he was under pressure or was felt responsible for something; then the guilt and the dream came back.
He had been worried since reading Hank's report, and had tried everything he could to try and contact the detective. Eventually news had filtered back, the local police had contacted the US embassy in England, who had contacted the New Jersey police department. They in turn had dispatched an officer to Hank’s house in Hoboken New Jersey to deliver their sad news to Hank’s wife. Running out of options as to how he could contact Hank, Miller had at eventually called the detectives home address.
A tearful Mrs Taylor had told him that “Hank died darling.” That he had been “In England on business. Not New England as in Massachusetts but England as in Europe”. He had been “Run over by a car” and it was “Such a tragic accident.”
Miller had offered his condolences, offered his help with any legal matters, “no charge of course”, it was the least he could do.
Since then he’d had difficulty sleeping. To hear that Hank had potentially witnessed a murder, or at least the disposal of a body had been concerning enough. But what disturbed Miller most was the potential connection to Geosys, the company had recently made an unsuccessful bid to purchase PageNet, the company that Miller had just fought and beaten in court.
If Hank's report was correct then it suggested that Lisbeth Saunders was connected to Geosys and working at some form of secret location. That same location had been the source of the communication from MemoryOfChloe the user that had apparently been bank rolling the case against PageNet.
One possible conclusion was that MemoryOfChloe had been a whistle blower who had previously worked for PageNet and now worked for Geosys. It wasn't an uncommon thing to happen, many of the huge tort cases against the Tobacco companies in the eighties and nineties had relied on former employees of the defendant. Thought of as either disgruntled employees or impassioned fighters of corruption depending on your point of view. If MemoryOfChloe had given their case information that would make sense, but instead she, or he, had given them money, literally millions of dollars to cover their costs. What sort of disgruntled employee has access to that size of funds?
Miller had decided to task another investigator with tracing the money; they had avoided this before because of the risk of tripping red flags in the financial system. But the financial investigator was a specialist and Miller had told him to take no risks. The report that had come back had shocked Miller even more, the investigator had stopped short of confirming some of the transactions but he had created a list of ten possible sources, number six on the list was Geosys.
It seemed evident that the company had been involved in funding the court case, possibly to damage their competitor's reputation, but would they go so far as to kill two people to cover it up? Miller was uncertain what action to take; if he went to the police then he had no evidence. He knew also that he was somewhat compromised, he’d been aware from the outset that there was a hidden agenda in the court case. Would his life now be at risk if he exposed them? He needed more information, he also needed to be able to sleep again, what he needed most of all was some form of confirmation that Geosys was involved.
He made a snap judgement and picking up his smartphone from beside the bed started to search online. After a few minutes he found it, the blog site of an obscure freedom of speech activist in the UK he had remembered from a news article. He found the option on the site to send her a personal message and quickly composed something suitable.
He hesitated before touching the send option, there was no connection between him and the obscure blogger. The smartphone was a new one sourced by yet another internet security "expert" who had assured him it was untraceable. None of this could come back to him.
He hit send and settled back down in his bed. Hopefully he would be able to sleep now.
