Coral nodded, but said nothing. She walked over to the open notebook and read the current page. It was a form filled out on the night of the incident. The date read Wednesday, September twenty-eighth, and the name listed was Alex Potty Sr. She took in the remainder of the form and noted the details as ‘Senior assaulted in lunchroom. Heart Failure, leading to death. No medical services rendered.’
“You filled this out?” she asked.
“Yes,” agreed the man. “It’s mandatory.”
Coral nodded again and flipped the page back. The previous reported incident had occurred on Wednesday the fourteenth, when Mrs. Gretta Cordell had cut her finger preparing lunch for the workers. “What’s with this towel?” she asked.
“Mr. Potty was foaming at the mouth,” said Mathias. “I used it to wipe the spittle away.”
Coral watched Frank as he approached a poster depicting the inner workings of the human body. The minotaur cringed and shook his head. “That can’t be right,” he exclaimed in disgust. “Where are the other stomachs?”
Coral avoided the droplets of blood and approached the dessert trolley, noting a second handcart beside it. Atop this second trolley, various tools were lined up. Clamps, scissors, scalpels and another half a dozen surgical instruments were in perfect alignment in a metal tray. She stopped short, her eyes immediately drawn to a small white cloth and a hypodermic syringe. The syringe was out of place and resting on top of the other instruments. She leaned over the tools, her eyes focusing on the single drop of blood on the white cloth. Picking up the material, she looked at the back of it. Her eyes reverted back to the cart, drawn this time to an object that had been hidden under the cloth. Nestled within the finger ring of one of the pairs of scissors, was a small glass bead. She picked up the bauble, pinching it between thumb and forefinger as she held it up to the light. It was hollow. Coral straightened and glanced around the room again, deep in thought. Across from her, Frank stretched himself out on the bed and stared up into a large magnifying glass that could be swiveled down over top of the bed’s occupant.
“You said earlier that no one has been in this room since Mr. Potty’s death?” she asked.
“That’s right,” agreed Mathias. He leaned against the sink counter watching as Frank poked at the magnifier. “The police arrived shortly after Alex Senior’s death. Mr. Godle and I bagged the old man ourselves, and then I filled out the incident form, while Godle gave his statement to the officers. I was told they needed to secure the room, and we were ordered out. We left everything as it was, and Mr. Godle himself escorted the body to the morgue.”
“Well then, this is rather confusing.”
“What is confusing?” asked Mathias, pushing himself from the counter and approaching the woman.
“Your notes say that you did not administer medical attention to Mr. Potty.”
“That’s right,” said Mathias. “I wiped his face of the vomit, and checked for blockages, but it was apparent he was no longer breathing.”
“Is it possible that someone else received medical attention that day, without it being entered in that journal?”
“No, ma’am,” said Mathias firmly. “It is against protocol. Every incident must be documented, no matter how minor. The company’s insurance policy sees to that. And before you say it, I know that some workers can be lax in their duties and could possibly overlook the bandaging of some minor wound, but I myself was on duty all day and then called in for overtime that evening. I assure you, I attended no one other than Alex Senior during my shift.”
Coral nodded slowly. “Thank you, Mr. Mathias. We will need to fetch Constable Johnson now.”
“And the reason for that, ma’am?” asked Mathias, looking confused.
“Someone stuck the old man with that hypodermic needle,” confided Coral. A hollow gong sounded throughout the chamber as Frank shot into a sitting position and banged his head on the overhanging magnifier.
* * * *
“Are you kidding me?” asked the young man. He removed his hard hat to scratch at his greasy hair and looked around the construction yard to make sure no one was paying them any attention. “You obviously never met Mr. Potty.” He replaced his protective cap with a hollow thud and made as if to spit in the dirt at Frank’s feet. Coral cleared her throat without looking up from her notepad, and the man stopped himself.
The woman finished writing her note. “I need you to clarify,” she said carefully. “I don’t want to read into what you are saying. Are you telling us you know of someone who wanted to hurt the old man?”
“Hey, I didn’t say that,” said the worker, backing up a step. He looked up nervously as two of his co-workers ambled past carrying a stack of timbers.
“Nice ass, baby,” said one of the workers with a wink. His buddy whistled loudly in their direction.
“Thank you,” rumbled Frank, guiding his imposing figure around Coral. He crossed his arms and snorted as the two construction workers hurried away.
“All I am saying is, the old man hated everyone. He treated us as if we were beneath him. He thought that just because you worked for him, he owned you.” The man nodded and half turned away. “I have to get back to my duties.”
“So you don’t know of anyone in particular who overly disliked the man?” asked Coral trying to keep him talking.
“Take your pick,” replied the man with a motion toward the yard of employees.
“If no one was fond of Old Man Potty, how come so many of you showed up for the ribbon cutting ceremony?” asked Frank.
“We were ordered to be here,” said the man with a scowl. “At least we got paid for two hours, that night.”
“Oh,” said Frank, scratching at his hairy chin.
The man nodded as Coral wrote out another point form annotation. “Thank you,” she called after him. Looking at Frank, she shrugged. “Everyone here seems afraid to speak about Alex Senior.”
“They’re scared they’ll be fired,” returned Frank with a knowing nod. “Apparently young Alex worshipped the ground his dad walked on, despite Senior’s temperament. I think these workers are smart to keep their mouths shut.”
“I hope the security guard is more helpful,” said Coral, tucking her notepad into a back pocket. Merle needs all the details he can get.”
“You really think this will help his case?” asked Frank with a stunned look.
“I’m optimistic,” replied Coral with a smile. “Sure it looks bad, but I agree with Merle. It seems unlikely that P.C. would hunt the old man of his own accord.”
“I don’t find it unlikely at all,” groaned Frank, with a roll of his eyes. “The metal guy is creepy on the best of days, and we all know how fond he was of the old man after their meeting the other day. Maybe he wanted to extend some of that Deep Cove hospitality those cage fighters are known for.”
“Stop it,” said Coral lightly. “This is no time for levity. Merle needs our help. I don’t care what happens to P.C., he’s just a machine, but who knows what that judge will sentence Merle and Garrett to if they are found guilty.” Frank nodded solemnly and followed Coral across the overcast yard as they made their way to the guardhouse. A light breeze gusted over the pair, carrying the scent of roasting meat from the security building.
They were met outside by a stout, middle-aged man carrying a paper plate of macaroni and ham. The man wore his security uniform, his shirt stretched tight around his big belly. “Come out back,” he said, around a mouthful of food. “We have a table set up for the nicer days. None of the boys will disturb us. I do have to be back on shift in about twenty minutes, though.”
“We’ll make this quick,” agreed Coral. “We appreciate your offering us the time for this interview, Mr. Godle.”
Godle bobbed his head and led them around the back of the building to an enclosed courtyard out of the wind. Setting his plate down on a picnic table, he plunked his bottom onto the bench and motioned for them to join him. “Hope you don’t mind if I keep eating,” he said. �
��They’re pretty strict about mealtime on shift.”
“Not at all,” returned Coral, sitting opposite the uniformed man. Frank’s stomach growled loudly, but he pretended not to notice as he leaned against the outside of the guardhouse.
“I gave my full report to the police that night,” said Godle. He picked up a piece of buttered bun from his plate and took a bite. Chomping noisily, he crammed in a forkful of macaroni, before waving the fork at Coral. “I’m not sure what you hope to get out of this,” he continued with a smack of his lips. “My reports are always detailed, and I have nothing to hide.”
“Of course not,” replied Coral, empathy in her voice. She lifted her butt from the seat and pulled out her notepad. Flipping back a few pages, she located the information she was looking for. “I just wanted to verify the details of your report with you. You never know, sometimes after a terrible incident like that, a person may remember some minute detail that they forgot or overlooked on the initial report.”
“I guess it happens,” agreed Godle. He used his fork to scrape the remaining macaroni on his plate into a heap before attacking it again.”
“How did you feel about Alex Senior?” asked Coral.
“Eh?” returned the guard, glancing up from his food.
Frank’s stomach gurgled loudly again, and both Godle and Coral looked over. “You have a little macaroni sauce at the corner of your mouth,” said Frank, when the guard looked his way. The minotaur licked his lips. When Coral frowned at him, he stood up straight with a snort. “Um, I think the lady is asking you if you liked the man.”
Godle nodded and went back to work on his lunch. “I don’t have any feelings about the old man, per say. I make the night rounds, and he supplies my salary. That’s pretty much the extent of our relationship. It’s not like we’re golfing buddies.” He snorted with mirth and used his plastic knife to cut into a slice of ham on the side of his plate.
Now it was Frank who laughed. “Whoever heard of a one armed golfer?”
“Oh it wouldn’t surprise me in the least,” exclaimed Godle with an earnest look. “That man does things that men with two arms can’t be bothered to do. I’ve never seen his handicap slow him down, one bit.” He half turned on the bench to look Frank’s way. “You ever see a one armed man shuffle cards?” Frank shook his head, and Godle turned back to Coral. “Well, I saw it with my own eyes. The old man, his boy, the plant manager Mr. Kane, one of them big wig’s from city council, and the owner of one of them dancing houses up the coast, had themselves a high stakes game, about a week ago. I came down the hall to see if they needed anything, and Old Man Potty was half in the bag and giggling like a schoolgirl as he shuffled the cards on his leg. I’ll tell you, he didn’t drop one.”
“Impressive,” said Coral, making a quick note.
Godle attacked the rest of his ham with the knife. “He was winning the game, too, from what I could see. I think, he’s just too stubborn to lose at anything.”
“Was anyone uptight about their losses?” asked Frank meaningfully.
“Not that I could tell,” replied Godle without looking up. “These were pretty wealthy fellas, sitting around at that table. I’m sure one night of gambling wasn’t going to hurt their pockets. Besides, I had a job to do, and I was in and out quickly.”
“Speaking of which, Mr. Godle, I was hoping you could give us a rundown of the events on the night Senior was murdered, and the way you recall them,” said Coral.
“Right,” said Godle, folding his paper plate with the knife and fork inside. “It was just after nine thirty, and I was continuing my rounds from the evac chamber. My first stop, as always, was the pumping room. The wizard engineers have installed various sorts of equipment in there, and I have a checklist of gauges I need to verify.”
“I’m sorry,” said Coral sweetly, “what is this… evac chamber?”
“The evacuation chamber is the final pool room where the sullied waters are cleaned. There are five chambers in all, but the evacuation chamber is the only room in which the purifier is added. After it has sat for twenty-four hours, the guard on duty comes along, at nine twenty-five at night, and enters the switch room. The entire level goes into lockdown. This means I am locked in the switch room, and all of the other doors in that quadrant are locked, as well. I pull the switch, and the chamber is evacuated over the side of the cliffs and back into the ocean. The pump room kicks in and the water from the other four chambers is drawn into the next chamber in line.”
“Sounds complicated,” mumbled Frank, scratching at an ear.
“You bet,” agreed Godle. “I know just enough of the operation to perform my duties. I couldn’t tell you how the water filtration system works or anything like that. If you want specific details on that, you’ll have to talk to the owners, they have all the drawings.”
“I don’t think we’ll need that much detail,” admitted Coral, “I would like to know what would happen if someone was in this area when this lockdown occurs though?”
“It would depend on where the person was,” supplied Godle. “The switch room and the other doors are locked down for safety, to make sure no one puts themselves in harm’s way. If someone accidentally found themselves in that area, most likely nothing would happen. They would be trapped in various staging areas. The only real danger is from the evac chamber when it floods through. A person would drown in there and be flushed out through the piping and over the cliffs. This won’t happen though, as all employees are trained on the evacuation procedure, and it occurs at nine twenty-five, every night. Also, the guard on duty walks through each chamber and hallway, clearing them in procession and locking them when cleared. All areas are unlocked automatically after the chambers have been redrawn.”
Coral was scribbling furiously in an effort to keep up with the man’s explanation. At last, she stopped writing. “So on this particular night, nothing seemed amiss in your rounds and the evacuation of the plant proceeded as normal?”
“Yes indeed,” agreed Godle, “normal, that is, until I came up into the lunchroom and was bowled over by that metal guy.”
“Did he harm you?” asked Coral, her eyes locked onto the guard’s face.
“No, he didn’t hurt me, but he sure harmed Mr. Potty.”
“You saw him, attack the old man?”
“Me, and everyone else in that lunchroom.”
“Did the golem say anything before he attacked?” asked Frank.
“As a matter of fact, he did,” replied Godle. He folded his arms across his chest, as if daring them to call him a liar. “I’ll never forget that cold metallic tone and those blazing purple eyes.”
“I have no record of the golem saying anything to you in your initial report,” said Coral. She was busy scanning her notepad for confirmation.
“Well, I …like you said, in the heat of the moment some minor details may get overlooked with a tragedy of this magnitude.” Seeing a crease develop over Coral’s nose, he continued hurriedly. “The main details, the important ones, were logged – I assure you.”
“Of course they were,” said Coral. She reached across the table and squeezed Godle’s hand reassuringly.
Godle relaxed. He did not pull his hand back as he continued. “As I was saying, that golem’s grating voice is etched in my memory. He said: ‘Get out of my way, cretin, executing code block something-something and then some numbers’. It ended with three-seventy-eight. I remember this, because my pa, God rest his soul, went to meet our maker at the ripe old age of seventy-eight.” Godle nodded, confident with his statement.
“You are doing fine,” admitted Coral with a pat on the man’s hand. “Go on.”
“After that, he shoved me and several other people out of the way, and thumped over to Mr. Potty.”
“The old man didn’t try and run?” asked Frank.
“No, he just stood there, kind of leaning against the table. I won’t forget the look of fear in his eyes, though. He looked terrified. In fact, I’ve never seen the
old man look so feeble. It was as if he knew that golem was coming to get him.”
“Can’t blame him for being afraid,” rumbled Frank. “That was the second time in two days that P.C. attacked him.”
“And then what happened?” prompted Coral.
“You already know what happened next,” said Godle, returning his attention to the woman and her notepad. “Mr. Potty tried to defend himself and managed a good punch that took the monster in the eye. That was all he could do, though, as that thing was just too strong and too fast. The metal man punched Senior in the stomach, and Potty doubled over in pain. Then that thing grabbed him in a bear hug and started shaking the old man something fierce. Potty kicked out in pain and fear, and I remember a tray of shrimp flying into the air. People were screaming, and everyone was trying to get away from the berserk golem. That’s when Junior appeared.”
“Alex Potty Junior?” clarified Coral. Her charcoal pencil had yet to cease its scratchings on the pad.
“Yes. He launched himself up onto the table, soared through the air, and struck the back of the metal guy with all of his weight. All three of them went down in a heap, amongst the scattered seafood platters. That’s when Junior used one of the platters to beat on the back of the golem’s head.”
“Did P.C. turn on Junior, too?” asked Frank.
“No,” said Godle lost in thought, “The metal guy picked himself and the old man up, punched Senior in the back a couple more times, and then I guess Junior’s blows finally rattled him, because he stopped beating on the old man and lumbered off toward the exit at the front of the plant. By this time, I had gathered my wits and I was on my way to the Pottys, when Junior took off after the golem. I knew I had to take charge, so I cleared the dessert cart of its contents. I wrestled Senior onto it and used it as a gurney to evacuate the old man to the lower first aid station. I still wasn’t certain of what had just taken place, but I was fearful the golem would return. My only thought was to get the old man to safety.”
Something Stinks in Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 4) Page 10
