Conspiracy Theory Pt. 01

"Yeah, he'd contacted our publication about giving us an interview regarding comments he'd made in the news media recently," Crossman answered. "And before you ask I have no idea what it was that he wanted to talk about."

"Mmm, so you said," Simmons answered as he looked down at the statements that the two journalists had written independently. Inwardly he didn't expect anything from them other than to corroborate each other's stories, however process and procedure had to be adhered to.

"How did he die?" The redhead -- Amy -- asked. Simmons looked at her.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that yet -- the medical examiner hasn't completed the autopsy." He replied. Dan seized on the words.

"Autopsy? So there's something suspicious about it?" Simmons instantly regretted his previous comment.

"It's just standard procedure Mister Crossman," he answered, then a brief flash of recognition rolled across his face. "Wait a minute, you're Daniel Crossman the conspiracy nut aren't you?"

"I prefer the term investigative journalist," Dan responded. "But, yeah, that's me." Simmons smiled.

"It's a small world after all." He muttered as he stood up and opened the door to the interview room. "Look folks, you're free to go -- I've got your contact details if I need anything else from you."

The harsh light of day stung their eyes once they were outside the subdued lighting of the Police Station. Amy looked around and seemed somewhat lost as Dan tried to locate his car keys.

"So what do we do now?" she asked.

"You still got that file on Close?" Dan countered. Amy nodded. "We start digging -- I know someone down at the ME's office that we can talk to in a bit to see if we can get a heads up on the autopsy results. I'll drop you back at the office on the way."

Yotsubishi Industries, Tokyo

Yuriko Obato waited patiently for the elevator doors to open. When they finally did her heels made a surprisingly loud noise as she walked towards the ornate doors that shrouded the rest of the sixty floors of Yotsubishi Industries from it's mysterious president, Taku Kuro. As she reached the doors Midori Uragi greeted her. A slim woman in her late twenties, many suspected that her duties went far beyond that of being Kuro's chief assistant.

"Yuriko-san you are expected." Midori said as she motioned towards the doors. There was a faint clicking noise as the doors began to open.

"Thank you Midori-san. You are as efficient as always." Yuriko replied as she bowed her head slightly to Midori. Neither woman truly trusted each other; it was more like a ritual politeness that existed between them; after all they both had secrets. Yuriko entered the large penthouse office. She had been inside this room once before -- and the darkness inside failed to be anymore comforting on this second visit.

"Report Obato-san." The voice was slightly distant, almost ethereal in nature, yet instantly recognisable as that of Taku Kuro. Yuriko stood upright and looked towards the desk at the far end of the room.

"The program is incomplete," she said. "It appears that the version we have is primitive."

"Have your team been able to extrapolate to a full version?" Kuro asked.

"No," Yuriko replied. "However I have identified a complete version that we can acquire."

"Are you sure it is within your reach?"

"Absolutely sir," Yuriko's confidence shone through.

"Very well Obato-san, proceed with your plan, but remember that failure is not an option." Muro said.

"Thank you Muro-sama." Yuriko bowed her head and turned on her heels. She exited the penthouse office and went straight into the waiting elevator.

Offices of The Voice, Ludgate Circus, London

Amy rubbed her eyes as she leaned back in her chair. As they opened again they saw the clock on the wall that seemed to be dominating the whole room.

6:14 pm

She shook her head and switched off her computer. Next to the keyboard was a pile of paperwork -- a combination of printed notes and articles from the Internet. As Amy stood up and stretched her back the door to the office opened and Dan walked into the room.

"Where the hell have you been?" Amy asked. "You've been gone nearly five hours." He sat down on the edge of her desk. "Have you been drinking?"

"Hey, one drink -- I suffer for my art you know." He replied as he pulled a file out from inside his grey trench coat and dropped it onto her desk. "There you go -- that's cost me five pints so far."

"Is that…?" Amy started.

"The preliminary autopsy report on Doctor Donald Close." He finished. "They're ruling it a suicide, but I don't buy it."

"What? Why?" Amy said as she picked up the report.

"I've gotta go -- I owe someone dinner," Dan said as he stood up and headed out of the building. "However, read that report and cross reference it against Marilyn Monroe." And with that he was out of the door.

"Marilyn Monroe?" Amy mused as she picked up the autopsy report and sat back down at her desk. After a few moments of surfing the Internet she glanced at the report -- underlined in black ink on the third page were the words lack of gelatine capsules in stomach contents? She looked at the reference then back at the computer screen in front of her. "My God…" Amy whispered as she began to make copious notes.

The Home Office, Westminster

Rachel stood and admired the lavishly decorated hallway. It was much better than the concrete box in Marsham Street where most of the department worked. A portrait opposite her looked like a Goya, presumably on permanent loan from the national Gallery. She ran her fingers through her hair as she waited. As she glanced over her shoulder she saw his guest depart. Smiling inwardly, she picked up the bag that was by her feet and walked into his office.

Once she was past the door -- and she was certain that it was secure -- her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light. Sitting behind the desk at the opposite end of the room was a silver haired man who reminded her of her late grandfather. As she approached him, his eyes locked with hers with a devilish glint in them.

"Lord Denby," Rachel said as she placed the bag on the desk. "In there you'll find everything that Erickson had compiled over the last six months."

"Really? Everything?" Denby replied in a rich, warm tone. Rachel nodded.

"All the files, all the interviews, all the transcripts -- the lot." She smiled as she perched on the edge of his desk.

"How do I know that you haven't retained copies of this for your own…amusement?" Denby asked as he opened the bag and took a quick peak inside.

"You should know me well enough by now to realise that this," she indicated towards the bag, "really isn't my sort of thing."

Denby laughed. "Indeed I do Rachel." He said with an assurance in his voice that betrayed the truth. "I'm led to believe that the unfortunate Doctor Close has taken his own life in despair over our recent smear campaign, and that young Erickson was ambushed by a radical fundamentalist group that he had been tracking on my behalf." Denby paused for a moment to look out of the window and across the Thames. "Such a shame to lose two such dedicated public servants on the same day."

"It would seem to be the case," Rachel replied -- her hand idly fondling the paper knife that sat on the desk. She picked it up and examined it, admiring the ivory handle and how well it was balanced before returning it to the tray. "Any more loose ends that you'd like taking care of?"

"It's funny you should mention that," Denby said as he opened a draw to his right. "There are a few…"

Tokyo, Shibuya ku

As she walked up from the subway along with the teeming hordes of commuters, Yuriko found her nostrils assaulted by the smells of the street vendors. Ordinarily she would have stopped off at the first noodle bar she found a stool at but time was against her. She darted through a narrow opening in the crowd to bridge the gap between the entrance to her apartment building and the edge of the sidewalk.

Once inside the gleaming glass and steel construct she entered the elevator at the far end of the lobby and pressed the button for the twenty-first floor. The ascent was rapid, far quicker than the industrial elevator in the Yotsubishi building. Exiting the elevator she reached into her jacket pocket for her e-key. Once inside and in the relative privacy of her apartment she leaned against the door and closed her eyes.

"Shosa." The word brought her back to the moment -- her eyes scanning the darkness as her body tensed. A faint red glow flared up momentarily before disappearing, followed by the distinctive smell of cigarette smoke.

"Detective Miyamoto," Yuriko called out. "How did you get in here?" a finger flicked a light switch and she saw him. Despite his reputation for heavy-drinking Ryoma Miyamoto carried his forty-five years of age well in his features. His dark, cropped hair was peppered with white at the temples and his features reminded Yuriko of the actor Ken Takura in his prime.

"You'd be surprised what people will do to avoid paying a few parking fines." Ryoma replied. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, I know you didn't, however it's not safe to meet here," Yuriko replied as she made her way through the living room towards the bedroom. "Or to use that name either." She referenced the term he had addressed her with when she entered the room.

"Have you found anything yet?" Ryoma asked as he stood up. "I hope you don't mind me smoking."

"Of course not." Yuriko said as she struggled to lift her suitcase down from her wardrobe. "Nothing yet -- the files on your wife are still classified at my security clearance." She returned to the living room. "But I will find out what happened to her for you Miyamoto-san -- once I get back."

"Get back? From where?" Ryoma asked.

"England." She replied as she opened a draw and removed her passport from it.

"Interesting road trip." Ryoma answered. He finished his cigarette and made his way into the kitchenette to douse it under the tap. "If you bump into Pryke tell him I said hello."

"I shall do Miyamoto-san." Yuriko said as she continued to pile items up in her arms. Ryoma watched her methodically picking up various things and disappearing into her bedroom with them before returning to collect some paperwork.

"Look, you're busy so I'll get out of your way." Ryoma said. Yuriko accompanied him to the door of her apartment. "And, there's no need to be formal with me, its just Ryoma." And with that he left, leaving Yuriko with a mountain of questions to accompany her long journey ahead.

Yardell Street, Central London

Tuesday, 8:32 am

As he closed the front door to his townhouse Dan found himself juggling his briefcase in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. Realising that he'd have to sacrifice one of these to fish the keys out of his jacket pocket he tried to cradle the briefcase between his knees -- only to find it starting to slip out the moment he took his hand away.

"Need a hand?" Amy's question startled him, causing him to drop the briefcase.

"Jesus…" Dan said as he twisted to see her standing at the foot of the small set of steps that led down to the pavement. "Yes -- can you have my briefcase while I just lock the door?" Amy's heels clicked against the stone steps as she reached Dan. She reached down between his legs and grabbed the handle of the briefcase, lifting it to safety. "Cheers." He said as he inserted the Yale key into the lock and rotated it one hundred and eighty degrees. He put the key back into his jacket pocket and then retrieved the briefcase from Amy. "So, what do you know?"

"You think that Close was murdered don't you?" Amy countered. "I read that autopsy report and then cross checked it like you suggested."

"And?" Dan asked as they made their way down the steps and onto the pavement. They walked the short distance to the offices of The Voice at nearby Ludgate Circus.

"While I'll admit that you may have something of a point -- and the autopsy report does raise more questions than it answers, the amount of tablets needed to achieve an overdose would leave some sort of residue in his stomach and there are no needle point marks on his body -- I'm at a loss to understand who might have anything to gain from Close's death, let alone making it look like suicide." Amy said as they crossed the busy street, with her avoiding the puddle in the street that Dan simply stepped straight into.

"That's the sixty four thousand dollar question." He said. "We'll start with the most recent stuff."

"The comments he was making about Iraq?" Dan nodded in response to her question.

"And pay particular attention to who is saying what about Close from the government's side of things." Dan said as they reached the main door to the magazine offices. He held the door open for her before entering himself. "I'll start with interviewing the members of that survey team -- we'll see if they upset anyone with the report they submitted." They began to climb the stairs to the first floor where the "bullpen" area was.

"One step ahead of you," Amy said as she fumbled inside her own bag for a small notepad. She handed it to Crossman. "Here's a list of the folks who are still around from that group -- closest one appears to be in Birmingham." Crossman looked at it and nodded, pleasantly surprised at his young colleague's foresight.

"Great -- I'll make my way up there this afternoon." He said as they reached the first floor and the series of desks that littered the open space. Each desk had a computer and a telephone on it -- many of them were filled with the other members of The Voice's permanent staff. "Do you fancy coming along?"

"I'd love to but Mister Ackland is here for the next couple of days. Mister Dixon thought it would be good for me to meet him." Amy answered as she turned away from Dan to reach her own desk. "But we can catch up when you get back if you'd like?"

"Sure -- I'll speak to you later then."

The Neutral Zone Comic Book store, Birmingham

2:12 pm

Tim scratched his head. He'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to reconnect the pipe he had removed from the bottom of the boiler in the basement of the shop. The torchlight wobbled slightly as a faint humming or buzzing noise from somewhere to Tim's right.

"Jesus Moz, will you keep that thing still -- how the fuck am I supposed to see what I'm doing if your waving that thing around like a bloody light sabre?" he chastised his friend.

"Sorry -- couldn't resist." Moz replied as he refocused the beam of light on the junction between the two pipes.

"It's okay -- I do it all the time because of the dust in here -- but there's a time and a place for everything, and this ain't it." Tim muttered as the pipe slipped out of the joint again. "Bollocks!" he cursed. "That's it -- I'm calling an engineer."

The door of the shop opened -- Kelly looked up from behind the counter and took stock of the person entering. He wasn't someone she immediately recognised, however as she had been here just over a month that wasn't too unusual. However, he seemed to be looking for someone -- or something -- with an intensity that was uncommon for a normal patron of the shop. She could feel her body tense slightly as her heart rate increased momentarily.

"Excuse me," the interloper came across to the counter and addressed her. "Do you know where I might be able to find Tim Smith?" As he stood closer to her she evaluated him -- her mind registered the fact that the large coat he wore could easily obscure a variety of weapons. However, his premature double chin and the bags under his eyes made Kelly think otherwise.

"Yeah -- he's downstairs at the minute." She said. "I'll get him for you if you like?" she stepped around the counter and walked backwards down one of the aisles, never allowing the stranger to leave her eyesight. "Who's after him?"

"I'm Dan Crossman -- I need to ask him a few questions about a former colleague of his." Kelly reached the back of store -- only then did she avert her gaze from this unknown factor. She opened the door to the cellar and called down.

"Tim, someone to see you." It took a few minutes for Tim and Moz to climb the stairs and reach the main shop floor. Kelly could see that Tim's hands were covered in a mixture of oil and dirt. "Have you fixed it yet?" Tim shook his head.

"Nope, bloody thing just keeps slipping out." He replied as he looked at the man at the counter. "Who's the spook?"

"He's no spook." Kelly countered. "But he said he wants to talk to you about something." She paused for a second. "Do you want me to take a look at the boiler?"

"Knock yourself out gorgeous!" Tim said. Kelly jabbed him playfully in the ribs as she descended the stairs, pausing only to swipe the torch from Moz. Tim walked up to the trench-coated man. "I'm Tim Smith," he smiled as he extended his hand. Dan shook it, then realised it was now covered in grime. "How can I help you?"

"My name is Dan Crossman, I'm a freelance journalist investigated the death of Doctor Donald Close," the mention of the dead man's name wiped the smile of Tim's face. "I was wondering if you could spare me some time to talk about him and your work in the UN Inspection Team."

"Sure, but we'd better go upstairs." Tim said. He turned to Moz. "Moz, she's all yours mate."

Dan refused the offer of a drink as Tim pushed a chair over to him. The journalist sat down on the opposite side of the desk from the comic book storeowner. They looked at each other for a moment. Crossman then pulled out a small Dictaphone from his pocket. As he placed it on the desk he activated it.

"You worked with Close as part of the UN Weapons Inspection Program in Iraq a few years ago?" Crossman asked. Tim nodded.

"Yeah -- I was on loan to the UN from the MoD -- we were assigned to investigate the northern regions of the country; primarily the Dahuk, Ninawa and Arbil regions." Tim said as he got up and went to the refrigerator. He opened the door and pulled out a can of coke from inside. As he sat back down he opened it. He took a drink from it before continuing. "There were seven of us assigned to the field group -- we'd go into the facilities and evaluate their current use against what it could be utilised for. You know, the Iraqis would say it's a water treatment facility but they'd have all the gear there for producing chemical weapons as well."

"Did you encounter any problems while you were there?" Crossman asked.

"I'm assuming you've done your homework, so you'll know we did." The terse reply made Crossman feel uneasy. "We walked into a site thinking it was a safe area and it turned out that it was anything but -- four Republican Guardsmen were ready to shoot us if we didn't turn around and leave immediately. Close argued with them and they opened fire -- leaving four of the team dead."

"Do you blame Close for the situation?"

"I'd blame him for getting us into a situation that we didn't fully understand, but not for the Iraqis reaction -- they just started firing indiscriminately." Tim responded. "Look, if you're trying to figure out who might have an axe to grind with Close then I'll admit that I'm on that list -- but I wouldn't want to hurt the guy, jeez, I mean, he was this well meaning, holier-than-thou bible bashing Catholic who was in way over his head." Tim said. "And I made that perfectly clear in my report -- however we both agreed on the fundamental issue that there was nothing there that even remotely resembled a weapon of mass destruction -- he just chose to go public with it when I cautioned against that course of action." Neither man said anything for a moment. "How did he die?"