by John Luxton
* * *
Dave left his bike on deck then sat in the galley of Joel’s boat for a few moments. He was out of breath.
“Look you know I’m seeing Siobhan?”
Joel nodded. “Banging her brains out I suppose.”
“Oh no, each other’s brains we are currently banging out, Sahib,” replied Dave emphasising the word others.
“Look man, wind in your Peter Sellers impersonations and tell me what is going on, what did your text mean?”
“Siobhan knows some of the white coats in the West London police forensic department. She was told that the police are looking for a connection between you and the dead guy because of the tattoo. Also it’s a murder enquiry now.”
“Yeah it’s lurid enough for the doing the gossip round,” said Joel.
“So you know about this already? If they have not hauled you in for questioning then they must be waiting for you to make a move. They may be watching the boat right now,” said Dave in a stage whisper.
“Look I was away in Paris. I literally just got back. I knew about the tattoo but I thought it was accidental death.”
“Well not any more. Get lawyered-up before you go and see them, it is not a ‘helping with enquiries’ situation any more. Look, you shoulda told me. You must be their only lead. Maybe you should go into hiding.” Dave began pacing up and down then peered through the blinds at the embankment.
“Look have a cigarette and calm down,” said Joel. “By the way where would a good hideout be?”
* * *
DC Sharma had entered The Lacuna Room. There were many gaming related threads but she restricted herself to ones that either mentioned Map Turtle or Alembic Valise. There were many public “rooms” that any site member could browse. There were also private rooms that were unavailable to general users and access to them was restricted to senior site members. She had found references to Map Turtle by using the onsite search facility but there were no obvious leads to follow. With the correct password however she was able to download photos of the tattoo and two PDFs of maps that the dead man had posted. Then disaster had struck, she had tried to log on from another machine in order to show the site to Detective Z, not knowing that there was a secure cookie system that meant access was only allowed to one machine. The account had then been frozen. She sheepishly handed the copies of the maps that she had printed out to her boss and packed up for the day.
Later Detective Z sat at his desk glumly recalling that the cyber fraud boys had once told him that even with a warrant to obtain a user list, webmasters of dodgy sites invariably purged their domains of anything incriminating before giving access. He was still puzzling over the maps when the phone rang. It was Joel who had been getting things straight in his mind before he telephoned Detective Z. Weirdly Dave had become more paranoid back at the boat, which had prompted Joel to wonder if Dave was under stress, even or doing drugs. He was struck by Dave’s idea of hiding out. What would that achieve? It would be incriminating behaviour. But he was curious to see exactly where he might suggest. Dave even had them agree on a story, in case the police were watching the houseboat and they were questioned.
“Mr Barlow, is it really you?” said detective Z putting aside the map and taking off his glasses.
“Of course it is,” replied Joel unable to discern if the detective’s bonhomie was genuine or not.
“Just got back I suppose”.
“I did inform your office where I was going.”
“I know, I’m just jealous of your magazine life style. But I am glad you called because there is something you need to know. It’s the Herald, in the next edition they are going with a “Mystery Deepens” headline, they somehow knew about the tattoo and the body being in close proximity to your boat. So we had to give them a statement. Listen I can read what they are actually going to publish:
A tattooed body was found yards away from the boat of well-known local author Joel Barlow, whose book is slated to be turned into a Hollywood movie next year. Shah (20) had a mystical symbol from the Alembic Valise fantasy story tattooed on his arm. Mr Barlow has been in touch with the police to offer his assistance in the continuing inquiry.
“Is it a murder inquiry then?” asked Joel.
“It is an open case, Mr Barlow.
“Well, it’s all true,” said Joel ruefully. “Listen, Inspector maybe I can help your inquiry, like they say in the Herald.”
“Actually you may be right. Can you come in first thing in the morning? I have some maps I want you to look at.”
Joel hung up and let out a sigh. He had to act now. Momentum builds on a rising tide.
Chapter 10
It was still an hour before dawn and Venus, the morning star or Lucifer as it was once known, hung brightly in the southern sky. Joel had one day of grace before a tattooed corpse, Alembic Valise and maverick writer Joel Barlow would be forever linked in the minds of the populace, courtesy of the article appearing in tomorrows Herald. His agent, his publisher and a whole load of PR people were on the case. So Joel had decided not to worry. He had a plan and the first part was to go for a run. To help re-establish the anchor patterns in his life that had recently been disrupted so profoundly. So here he was back on the towpath, for the first time since the fateful day.
Knowing that it would take that extra little bit of effort to blow away the cobwebs he kicked for home earlier than usual and arrived back at the boat exhausted yet somehow refreshed. It was still early but out on the water the racing crews were training hard too. Two eight-man craft shot by, their oars barely disturbing the water, he watched them for a moment then continued his warming down exercises against the floodwall.
Two and a half hours later, as he was climbing the steps of an austere office block Joel was thinking that despite the situation he was beginning to rather respect Detective Z, and that Dave was been over-reacting. After all he really did have nothing to hide. In the reception he was given a pass and told to take the lift to the fifth floor.
“Mr Barlow, thank you for coming,” said DC Sharma as she led him through the shabby open plan office towards a desk in the far corner where Detective Z was seated.
“Here have a seat,” he said gesturing at a chair. “Coffee or tea?” Joel shook his head to indicate that he was fine then asked about the maps.
“Yes we found these on a website that Darren Shah frequented a lot. We have been reduced to trawling the virtual world for some clues as to what this boy was all about. Have you heard of the Lacuna Room? It’s a website for gamers.” the detective enquired watching him closely. Again Joel shook his head.
“Show Mr. Barlow the maps, DC, you know we only got access to these by using your new book title as a password. How many people would know about that?” asked the detective.
“Well officially hardly anyone I guess. But there are certain protocols that the more adept game players use to accelerate their progress and a fairly central one is the use of anagrammatic proofing.”
“What the hell is that?”
“Well”, he continued, “the Turtles give directions that can either be wisdom or folly. The player must choose whether or not to follow these directions. ‘A far lust temple’ is an anagram of ‘false map turtle’ for instance. Therefore this is a case of a direction that it would be folly to take.”
“You are kidding me,” said the detective looking baffled.
“No really, good players get attuned to figuring this stuff out quickly.”
“So what you are saying is that a seasoned player would be able to make anagrams out of anything, Alembic Valise for instance.”
“Well you can cheat by using an online anagram solver,” said Joel.
Inspector Z sat back in his chair and brushed his hand through his brown hair.
“Well, I’ll have a coffee please, DC Sharma. Sure I cannot tempt you, Mr Barlow?”
“OK,” said Joel.
“Here take a look at these maps while we wait for our coffee,” he said pushing a f
older towards Joel. “But first tell me why your work has clicked with so many people?”
“Starting with the book, this can be read in a conventional linear way but at the end of each chapter the reader has the option of jumping to another part of the narrative via a short guided-imagery exercise that draws material from the readers unconscious. This aspect of the book was expanded when it was turned into a computer game. Using symbols in this way is derived from the whole mythic journey template that has been used in storytelling for millennia. The Sufis believe that the forging and the controlling of symbols is a channel of divine immanence. Modern hypnotherapy also uses this technique.”
“So are you hypnotising the readers?” asked Detective Z, now leaning forward in his chair.
“I Dunno, it’s just a device to draw readers in really. Multiplying the possible outcomes strengthens user resonance and adds layers of empathy and meaning. The current buzzword is ‘immersive experience’, I believe.”
DC Sharma returned at that moment and put three large Styrofoam cups on the table. Joel smiled at her and declined her offer of sugar then worked the lid loose on his cup and took sip.
“These are transition points located at various points within the PW,” said Joel on studying the map. Receiving blank looks he began to backtrack.
“Alembic Valise is a MMO game, that’s massively multiplayer online game. It is played within a persistent world, meaning the gaming environment continues to evolve even when a player is off-line. On every level, and there are nine, there are zones the player must locate, and these are known as the vulture’s neck. An esoteric metaphor that is based on the idea that time is essentially a spiral and that the possibility exists of being able leap between the coils. Usually only the denizens of the spirit world are able to perform this vault across both time and space. Anyway the game player must recognise and use these hidden doorways in order to progress to the next level.”
DC Sharma started writing furiously on her notepad then announced, “Nukes Culvert; it’s on this map and it’s an anagram of Vultures Neck.”
“Anything else you can tell us about theses maps?” asked Detective Z.
“One thing occurs to me,” said Joel. “But I need to talk to the developers in order to clarify it. I’ll call them now.”
Two minutes later Joel flipped his phone shut. “They will look at the maps right now if you email them.”
DC Sharma’s fingers flew over the keys of her computer. Joel’s coffee had gone cold but he drank it anyway.
“Do you know Shah’s real world movements at all?” asked Joel thinking he had better try and ground things a little.
“Well apparently he was watching your houseboat from the nearby park. For a while my boss had the theory that he was there to kill you, in order to free himself from the game; thought he may have been in the grip of some kind of obsessive psychosis.”
“Oh fuck!” said Joel.
“Even the tramps do not doss in the park in midwinter. We spoke to some of them and he was seen over the few days leading to his death.”
“They have replied,” said DC Sharma suddenly. Both Joel and Detective Z looked at her expectantly.
“Well,” continued DC Sharma reading the email response from her computer screen. “He says that this map was almost certainly generated from a pirated copy of Alembic Valise of which there are many in circulation. Usually some of the menu options and functions do not operate correctly if at all.”
“Well that is reassuring to know,” said Joel.
“In fact he goes on to say that when a player has reached the pinnacle of their quest they are deified and inducted into the pantheon of immortals. This is missing from the pirated copies and can clearly be seen to be absent on these particular maps even though the player reached level nine.” DC Sharma pushed her chair back, tasted her coffee, grimaced, and then looked enquiringly at her superior.
“Maybe we should just let the coroner decide if it was an accident or suicide,” said Detective Z wearily, after a few moments of thought.
“You mean draw a line under it boss?”
“I mean, can you imagine calling a press conference and telling them that a pirated computer game could be sending folk crazy. On the other hand if there is the issue of public safety and if we do not warn people and it happens again or for that matter it has happened before and we do not know about it then we will be accused of being negligent. The only link in the Shah case is his tattoo; if he did not have that then the whole thing would have past us by completely.”
Joel remained silent. The two detectives seemed to be going through some process and he was content to listen.
“OK”, said Detective Z after a short pause. “You, DC Sharma, will start going through recent cases. You can search the database by keywords, so let’s compile a list of those and get started.”
“It will take weeks, boss.”
“I know but then if we find nothing, nobody can accuse us of not pursuing the necessary due diligence. But for now let’s wind things up. I need some lunch. Thanks for your time Mr. Barlow. I’ll call you if we need anything else.”
“Glad I could be of help,” said Joel as they rose.
“This should do wonders for your royalties,” said the Detective as he left him in the corridor.
“Not so good if I get offed by a psychotic gamer before I get the chance to spend them,” Joel said to himself as he waited for the lift to arrive. He left his pass on reception and once outside turned down a side street, to get away from the noise of the traffic.
Chapter 11
Deacon was sat on a bench in the embankment gardens, it had started to snow but he scarcely noticed. For the past fortnight he had come here every day. In that time he had seen Joel pass by numerous times, usually head down frowning, but once with Mai, laughing together. He had seen Detective Z watching the boat that Joel lived on from the sunken garden. He had seen Dave go aboard the same boat. He had even seen Darren Shah watching the very same boat. Of course he did not know any of these people passing him on his bench but the one person he was hoping to see had not appeared; his estranged twin brother.
Two weeks ago when walking through Hammersmith he had thought he saw Jim striding along ahead of him. Surprised to see his brother in this part of town, he thought that maybe Jim was searching for him and so set of in pursuit. Lost him in the crowd then saw him in the distance taking the underpass towards the river. But when Deacon emerged into the small park there was no sign of him. So every day since then, after the day-centre closed, he came and sat on the same bench in the gardens, where he could see in all directions, along the embankment and across the park.
Of course he knew that he could simply telephone his brother if he wanted to speak to him and had many times thought of doing just this. But in his mind it was hard to reel back the years. They had argued bitterly about what seemed now like a trivial matter. But now he had the belief that if he were actually to see Jim there would be reconciliation. He just could not put it into the words required for a phone call. The snow flurries continued and he was about to give up, when he saw a familiar figure enter the park.
* * *
Tomorrow the story would appear in The Gazette. This would inevitably put Joel and his houseboat in the public spotlight, and not in a good way. So Joel had spoken to Dave and they had agreed that he would temporarily and covertly move into the room above Dave’s boathouse. This was just around the bend in the river from the Gate.
At dusk Joel was to take his skiff and navigate a trouble free passage to his “new crib”. Described thus by DC Sharma when she returned his email and gave her blessing to his voyage. The boathouse would have to be his route to dry land. He could not help feeling he had less options than a hypnotised chicken. Mai had laughed when he said that to her. She was in Brighton but would be returning tomorrow, and not seeming to be fazed by the current wonkiness of his trajectory at all.
He began to put on Marino wool underwear, then a laye
r of micro-fleece, lastly a jacket, all in dark colours, no Day-Glo or reflective panels. The two bags he had packed earlier were on the table one held his laptop and notebooks the other a few clothes and his travel kit. Theoretically he would be able to slip back to his boat at night as and when required. Joel checked around the cabin one more time. Then putting on his black cap he moved towards the door.
There were tiny flakes of snow dancing in the arcs of the onshore lights as he cast off and began to row away from the boat. He had told himself that his relocation was only temporary; nevertheless her felt a lonely pang as he edged out further into the darkness.
Dave had acquired the boathouse several years ago. The school rowing club that originally owned it was moving to a larger facility closer to the school itself, so Dave had bought it and applied to the local council for a change-of-use to convert it to a residence. His application was declined, so he was stuck with it and used it only to store his Ducati. For a while Sophie had used it as studio to paint in, and when she and Joel had been lovers they had spent several passionate afternoons there. A lifetime ago, he thought philosophically.
High tide was in half an hour, but any current was imperceptible, the river was entering the slack-tide phase; thus allowing him to navigate a straight and true course towards his destination upstream. Pockets of mist were gathering over the slick water and the only sound was the creak and splash of his oars. Hearing the faraway tinkle of celestial music brought him out of his reverie. It was his cell phone ringing from a zipped inner pocket. It was Dave.
“Hey where are you?”
