It was only 3:30 but it felt like it was already 10:00. Gus texted
me over an hour ago to explain how he’d fallen down the stairs, which meant
that I would be running the morning report for him this week. I had less than two days to try and research
and learn some background knowledge
of the week’s top story for the new six o'clock Panorama programme on Thursday, I thought that they must be
desperate. It had been a while since I’d
done a live broadcast, but it was about time that I got back up there, since
the last time I mean. I’d been keeping under the radar. I would finally get to
be back on television, and I wasn't about to ruin it again simply because I
didn't know my stories properly.
Damon had just dumped the pile of papers on the wooden oak desk, next to my
almost empty coffee cup, thanks! I
started looking at the previous write-ups of the main story this week. They
were all about a bunch bodies that had been found in the Seine. It was noted
that these people had committed suicide and written a note found in their
pocketbooks to prove this. It all seems a little strange if you ask me. All of
a sudden you have all these people
who have supposedly committed suicide, and they've all written suicide notes. I couldn't let this one go, it all
sounded terrible but I had to know more.
As I fired up my laptop I searched for more information about
these incidents. People committing suicide in the Seine was not a recent thing;
I found out, it was something that had been going on for a long time. Over the
past few years there have been many hundreds of people who committed suicide
there. My search only led to more questions; did they actually commit suicide
or was it part of something more gruesome? And why haven't the authorities
suspected anything? I came across an article about a man who experienced with
the strangest story I had ever heard, a bed had almost squashed him to death in
a gambling-house near the Seine that was in Palais Royal. I just had to speak
to this person, there wasn't a lot written in the article, perhaps it was far
too shocking for him to say, but I knew I just had to speak to him.
I tried hundreds of numbers and got through at least three more cups of coffee
before someone finally put me through to the man’s friend. His friend said that
Thomas would agree to speak to me on the grounds that I did not publish
anything with his name on it and that the conversation was to take place over
the phone, this I agreed to. So, I was put on hold yet again and waited until
finally a deep husky voice spoke.
“Thomas McLane, what do you
want?” The voice sounded annoyed.
“Hello Mr McLane my name is
Tamara Raine and I work for the BBC, I am calling regarding your strange
encounter at the gambling-house near Palais Royal where a horrible incident
took place, I have a few questions to ask you if wouldn’t mind answering.” There
was silence on the other end. Truthfully, I was starting to get worried that he
would put the phone down on me and I would have no story left. But surprisingly
his tone changed.
“Please, call me Thomas, Miss Raine
and may I say it is a pleasure to hear such a lovely voice, I do wish my friend
had put you on sooner as I would be honoured to answer some questions for such
a beautiful woman, ask away.” His change in attitude was surprising, but I
quickly adjusted myself.
“Mr McLane, would you mind
explaining to me in as much detail as possible what happened on the night you
decided to go gambling?”
“Of course I can my dear; you see
my friend and I decided that a change of scenery was needed so I thought it
might be nice to go somewhere where we could see a little genuine blackguard
poverty-stricken gambling. As we entered the “House of Spades”, I believe they
called it, the scene was a mess, the men were horrific and the sight was truthfully
just tragic. So, I took refuge at the game Rouge
et Noir ,I had played in every city
in Europe and found that I was winning at such a rate that even regular
gamblers couldn’tresist gathering round
to marvel at my winnings, long story short I broke the bank with the support of
an old soldier.
“Not to be too intrusive, Mr
McLane, but you do not strike me as a man of greed or risk, what drew you into
the game?”
“Ah, well I’m not too entirely
sure, a bit of winners luck had me going; a rush of energy and that was it. I
was in the game alright!”
“What happened after you won?”
“Well it was a bit bleary past
that point, I guess I’d had quite a bit to drink or something. That guy, he got
me a coffee to sober up and was persistent that I should take a bed at the
gambling-house to avoid being robbed on the way home. This sounded like a fair
thing to do and so I took the bed upstairs, making sure I put my winnings under
the pillow for safe keeping and barricaded the door just in case. I just lay
down for a while, it all seemed pretty comfortable and I was drifting off. But
just then, the bed-top seemed to be moving closer and closer to me, at first I
thought maybe it was all the drink I had probably downed, but the canopy was
going to collapse on top of me and in that final moment I was able to quickly
roll myself off the bed and with a thump onto the cold floor. Well, at first I
was practically frozen in fear and lay on the floor trying to compose myself.
After a few minutes everything stopped.” He paused for a moment, almost
expecting a question, so I followed up, in shock myself.
“My God, how did you manage to
escape? You locked yourself in didn’t you?” I realised there was a worry in my
voice that sounded a little too needy.
“Well, I got out of there that
second, didn’t call for anyone, I grabbed the money and shoved it in my satchel,
I could hear voices whispering next door, or was it just in my head, I didn’t
know anymore. I worked out that my best bet would probably be out of the window.
Thankfully this area was not one that had been refurbished; there was a
cross-bridge to the next building, I snuck all the way out, still swaying
around as I balanced on the edge. If anything the coffee had made it all worse.
I saw a café that was still open and dragged myself in. I don’t know why but I
ordered a coffee, as I took a sip, I soon came to realise that I must have been
drugged. In that coffee! It had tasted odd now that I thought about it. I needed
to get out of there.” I was so involved in listening to his story that I had
forgotten to even make any notes I quickly started scribbling it all down.
“How crazy!” that’s all I could say. After
composing myself, I thought of something more suitable, “That must’ve been an
unbelievable rush for you I assume, how are you now?”
“Yes, well looking back at it, it
was unbelievable.” He seemed in his own world, like he was still remembering it
all.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking,
what did you do with that money that you won, Mr McLane?” I asked curiously, I
half expected him not to tell me, but it seemed that Thomas McLane was a man
full of surprises.
“Well, only two people know where
I’ve hidden it, but if you promise not to tell anyone I’ll tell you, do you
promise?”
“I promise not to tell anyone” I
really did mean it; it was only for my own curiosity.
“I managed to hide the money
under the----“The line went dead.
“Mr McLane? Mr McLane? Are you
there? Thomas?” Oh I thought, to myself maybe my phones died, but when I looked
at the battery it was still on 90%. I tried to call him back, but his number
went straight to voice mail. That’s rather peculiar, I decided to call his
friend instead, but that number went straight to voice mail too. I hadn’t even
got to a point of asking him about his thoughts on the previous, so called, “suicides”.
I began to panic, but then realised maybe there was a problem with the
reception. I looked over at the clock, it read 15:02. I thought it would be
easier to leave it for the day and head home, I hoped that he would call back
later. But he never did.
It was only later that night,
while I was watching the seven o’clock news, when I realised why I never got a
call back. Thomas McLane and his friend Mark Spencer had been found dead in their
apartment together, it was suspected that they had both committed suicide.
I was in shock.
Only four hours ago I had been
speaking to him, he seemed perfectly healthy, perhaps even a bit flirtatious.
Just then, Sid walked in, I knew it was him, but I hadn’t looked away from the
television screen yet, he came and sat beside me, but I still did not tear my
eyes away from the blue page on the screen. He was now staring at me.
‘Hey, Tamara what’s wrong?’ He
grabbed the remote to turn off the screen. After a minute or two I looked away,
then it all just started spilling out,
‘I was just talking to him I
can’t believe he’s dead, he was fine it couldn’t possibly be a suicide, what are
they doing? What if it was something that I said, I need to get down there
right now.’ I was already on my feet, ready to leave.
‘Hold on, slow down, Tamara who
are you talking about?’
‘The supposed suicides at the
gambling house, I contacted the man who survived, and I spoke to him, Mr
McLane. He is now dead.’ I was ready at the door now, the shock had now transformed
into drive, I had to find out what was going on.
‘Just wait a while Tamara, I’ll
wash up and drop you off before my next shift at the office.’
‘No I need you to stay here for a
while in case I get called.’ I walked out at this point I didn’t know where I
was going. I thought that my best bet would be to go the office, but I couldn’t
be seen, I would be questioned and I had promised McLane to publish everything
anonymously.
It was already nearing eight o’
clock when I reached the office, the only people in were a few of the cleaners.
I went over to my desk, Damon had left the documents everywhere, I sifted
through them quickly, looking for names, addresses, anything that I could find.
It was hours before I found something. I decided that it was probably best not
to call anyone, especially from the work line. The supposed address for the
gambling house was right here.
At this point I knew that there
was only one thing that I could really do to get to the bottom of all of this,
I didn’t have much to go on. I thought I would follow the address that I came
across, and head south on the train.
It was
nearly eleven o’ clock by the time I reached the address. At first the town
seemed quiet, almost eerie. The house was in fact a tragic sight. I realised
the only way I was going to get in was by acting like a gambler. I had never
gambled in my life!
I knocked on the door; the old man looked at
me up and down, before telling me to get lost. I showed him the money. That got
me in. As I walked down the dingy hallway all I could smell was the damp walls
and the stale ale. They sat me down at a round table with a single lamp,
brightening the dim, room. It was Rouge
et Noir, just like McLane had told me. Luckily, Sid and I had spent last
summer playing it, so I guess I was pretty good.
I had managed to hold on to the drink I had
been handed as soon as I had walked in. However, I hadn’t taken a sip as I
couldn’t risk getting drugged like Mr McLane. After a few successful games, I had
gathered quite a crowd who kept cheering me on. Amongst the noises of the
crowd, I heard a familiar voice. I peered across the room and through the crack
in the door I saw a glimpse of a guy. I gasped, “That looks like…”
I got up ready to leave, but the
old man kept telling me to carry on. I knew better than to take my winnings
with me. Now I was scared and had to anything to get out of there. I told them
to keep the money I had won and ran back down the dingy hallway to the silence
of the night. I ran to the station, the train seemed to take forever but I
finally got home and it was only around one. But what if I’m wrong? But my eyes
can’t deceive me. I rushed to the study room, there were papers scattered all
over the desk. After looking around for what seemed like years, I decided that
I was perhaps getting ahead of myself. But I couldn’t think of why he wouldn’t
tell me where he worked. I slumped into the leather chair and stamped my foot
on the wooden floor. One of the floor boards suddenly flipped out, revealing
even more documents. I pulled out something that had McLane’s name on it. It
was a suicide note just like the others; there were also maps with markings
around the river Seine and lots of packages. One of the packages was torn open
to reveal a pack of tranquilisers. Why did he have all of this? I was right all
along, they weren’t suicides. How could I have been so stupid
this whole time?
Just then I saw this handkerchief, I was
pretty sure that I had seen it before. At this point I had tears in my eyes. He
had to have been a part of the whole thing; I would never have thought that he
would be capable of something like this. Who was he really? I had seen this handkerchief
in his pocket a few months ago, I remembered now. I’d seen it, ‘House of
Spades’, was written in a cursive font, right in the corner. I had had
everything right here but I had known nothing.
I held up the handkerchief now and there he
was standing in the doorway. It all made sense now, looking at him I could see
it. It was Sid! He was running the entire thing, robbing these innocent people
of their winnings and lives; this was his new “job”. I had already been
convicted under wrong accusation last time, it had nearly ruined my career, but
he’d used that against me, thinking that I would never suspect him. How could
he do that to me?