Who Killed the Abbot?: A Meadows-Macdonald Detective Novel

By Sam Galardo

It is 2082, and new detective Chris Meadows, who has an innate talent for identifying a liar, is fresh out of police training at Ottawa U. As he prepares for an interview for his dream job at a Toronto detective agency, Chris has no idea of what awaits him. All he knows is that he is more than ready for a change.

After the owner of Osm Detectives tells Chris he wants him to spend a year training as an assistant to his friend and fellow detective agency owner, Rene MacDonald, Chris accepts, hoping that his eager attitude will eventually help him snag a position as an Osm agent. But when Chris arrives in the now-independent country of Qubec to help Rene investigate the suspicious suicide of a monasterys abbot, he soon realizes that some friends hide dangerous secrets. And thanks to his new boss, Chris discovers he has much more to learn.

In this futuristic murder mystery, a rookie detective must rely on his instincts and his bosss mentoring to piece together the puzzle of a complex death investigation and set the stage for what he hopes will be a successful career.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491731307

Sam Galardo

Sam Galardo is a lifelong resident of the Montréal, Canada, area, save for a brief stint in Ottawa. He lives with his wife, Jennifer, in the suburb of Saint-Lambert, where they loyally serve the true masters of the home—Cooper, a Newfoundland dog, and his feline companions, Micha and Charlie. This is the first book in an intended series.

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Copyright © 2014 Sam Galardo.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-3131-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3130-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014907553

iUniverse rev. date: 04/29/2014

Contents

Author’s Notes about Futurisms

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Thank you to the three major influences in my life: my father, my not-by-blood brother John, and Jennifer, my best friend and love of my life - and, luckily for me, my wife.

Author’s Notes about Futurisms

This novel is set in Montréal in the year 2082. Due to this, there are several terms used in the novel that do not yet exist but that I believe can become common terms. Most become apparent fairly quickly, such as the room of many euphemisms (thanks, friend MB) became ROME, a.k.a. bathroom (although I use the term only when referring to public restrooms), apfice for an office building where upper floors have been converted to apartments, and vimbox for virtual mailbox (i.e., an e-mail account). Other futurisms were discarded, such as using the gender-neutral and politically correct terms hem instead of him/her and hes instead of his/her because they would be too distracting.

Am I certain these terms will become common usage? Of course no one really knows the future. (Put your hand down, Cassandra.) That’s speculative fiction for you.

(For the Greek mythology geeks out there such as myself, I hope you’re amused by the Cassandra reference. For the others, forgive me the indulgence; it’s really not important.)

Another prediction concerns racial identification. The usual follow-up question to He’s Indian—American or Asian?—will be eliminated by the terms amerind and asiind (pronounced AS-EE-IND). Fairness would have people identified by Mohawk, Sioux or Punjabi rather than getting a continental catchall—after all, the European tribes of Italian, Spanish, French, etc., are differentiated—but who said life was fair?

Most of the science fiction in this novel is more speculative than imaginative, as the technology featured is either possible right now or a projection to developments already in progress (for example, computer glasses rather than a screen, and a glove rather than a keyboard or mouse).

There are two flights of fancy, and, ironically, they involve flight. Specifically, cars can fly.

But this is also a projection of current developments. An electrical current has been passed through a block of ceramic material, and this material has floated over a magnetic field. The scientific leap from this to making cars fly involves the invention of a new ceramic compound, flaurenj (rhymes with orange), which generates an anti-gravity field when a sufficient current is passed through it. Related to this development, although not spelled out explicitly, is that a new development in batteries makes them powerful enough to generate the needed current. This compact but powerful power source actually manifests itself in several ways in the book, even if the usage of the batteries is not obvious.

The social and political situation—other than the separate nation of Québec and some pleasant developments on the African continent—is pretty much the same as it is now.

Unfortunately.

Chapter 1

M y mind wandered.

This was not normal for me in the middle of a game. It happened once before, and I got caught flat-footed. Never again, I swore.

But tomorrow was my interview with Albert Osômë. This time tomorrow I could be working for the detective agency I’ve been admiring since I started police training at Ottawa U. I would have to make a good—

"Psssh!"

I froze. That sound in my helmet speakers told me someone had just been eliminated. Before I could think, One of theirs or one of ours?, I heard Jean-Guy’s message: "Two? Present?"

No answer. Lorraine was gone. Damn.

"Three? Present?"

That’s me. "Present, One." With Four—Marc—already gone, and now Two vaporized, that left just Jean-Guy and me.

Two of us left to face two of them.

I pressed my right index finger to my thumb. A map of the area appeared in my visor, showing my position as a white dot and the last member of my group in yellow. Jean-Guy was only 10 metres away. "Regroup?" I asked.

"Yes. Stay."

I made the map disappear by pressing the same fingers again. Keeping my back to a blue opaque boulder twice my height, I looked quickly to the left and to the right …

A tall, lean figure in a black slick-suit sprang into view: Jean-Guy. He held his left arm in front of him as he scanned the terrain.

He relaxed once he spotted me. I hopped briskly toward him; bouncing was more practical than walking due to the low Aldebaran gravity.

Suddenly he yelled "Quack!" and slapped his right hand to his chest. A small white fireball shot out of his left hand, directly toward me.

His Quack! was to warn me that something was coming my way. In normal gravity I would have dived to the ground, but Aldebaran gravity would have made that too slow.

I jumped and lifted my legs. The fireball just missed my feet.

I twisted in midair just in time to see the fireball slam into a woman in a red jumpsuit, her arms held in front of her as if they would stop the attack.

"Psssh!" The woman vanished.

I grinned at Jean-Guy as I landed, giving him a thumbs-up. Jean-Guy responded with his own thumbs-up. Our faceplates were clear, so I could see him grinning back.

But his grin instantly turned to panic as he was suddenly bathed in a white light.

"Psssh!" He disappeared.

I caught a glimpse of a red-suited woman before she scampered away to the left.

Damn! I ran to my left as well, peering over the rocky terrain for the woman.

There! I raised my left arm to shoot, but the woman ducked behind a bright-green boulder about two metres tall.

I sprinted to the boulder as quickly as the weak gravity would let me. Once in position I crouched and then leapt over the boulder, twisting my body so I would come down facing my opponent.

As I came down I saw her standing behind the green rock, looking the wrong way. I pointed my wrist weapon at her.

Somehow she knew I was there. She turned her arm toward me as I came down, but the tension I saw in her body told me she knew I had her cold.

I hesitated. I don’t know why, but I hesitated. Something about her made me pause before shooting, but I don’t remember what I thought.

That’s because she didn’t hesitate. The fireball slammed into my chest. "Psssh!" Everything vanished.

Instantly the scene changed. The alien landscape of Aldebaran disappeared in a wink, replaced by a restored Roman coliseum filled to capacity with faceless viewers cheering and clapping. I was standing beside Jean-Guy, Lorraine and Marc at one end of the arena floor. At the other end of the coliseum stood the other team, four women of roughly the same height wearing tight red jumpsuits. I was so steamed at myself—why did I hesitate?—that I almost slapped the break switch on my glove.

But I held back. Being a sore loser would make the group look bad.

The eight of us lifted our visors. Theirs were red and reflective, so their faces had previously been hidden. I figured they ranged in age from mid-twenties to early thirties.

One of the women—not the one who nailed me, I think—stepped forward. Jean-Guy walked forward until he was almost nose to nose with her. Then he dropped to one knee and held up his hands as if he was holding something.

The Canadian Virtual Reality Combat Cup appeared in his hands, drawing waves of applause from the audience. The Red Team leader took the Cup and bowed to Jean-Guy. She walked back to her team, holding the Cup over her head. Jean-Guy stood, turned and walked back to us.

The three other Reds surrounded their leader. Each had one hand on the Cup while waving at the crowd with the other. The applause lasted for several long, painful minutes.

As the crowd finally died down, I heard Jean-Guy’s request for team privacy to the controller. The crowd and the other team vanished, leaving the four of us alone in the coliseum.

Jean-Guy frowned and mumbled something. The coliseum vanished, and we stood in a grassy field surrounded by rolling hills.

Jean-Guy grinned at us. Good match, people. We came close. He looked like he meant it.

"What? I was still feeling hyper; it took an effort to force my volume down. Yeah, great match, but we still lost."

Nevertheless, Chris, we have nothing to be ashamed of.

You don’t, maybe. I’m sorry I blew it at the end.

Marc put his large hand on my shoulder. "Eh, ti-gars, don’t discourage yourself."

Marc often referred to me as ‘Ti-Gars’ – little boy – because of the difference is our sizes. I stopped being insulted after doing some research and finding out it’s a term of endearment.

"You lasted longer than the rest of us, n’est-ce pas?" Even though the large Québécois was also smiling, I could tell it was forced.

Yeah, but—

Lorraine jumped in. But nothing, Christopher. She also grinned, looking more relaxed than her boyfriend. You managed to be the last one standing. But you did look like you had that last Red, no problemo. Why’d you stop?

How did she—How did you know what happened?

Lorraine looked surprised. What, are you kidding? I saw you from the audience, natch. Her eyes narrowed. You’ve always been the last member of your teams to lose or you’ve won, right?

Yeah, that’s right. How did you know?

Marc answered for his girlfriend. When you get eliminated before a teammate, you go into the audience and get to watch the rest of the show. How many matches have you done before the nine with us?

I shrugged. About 20.

He looked impressed. And you’ve never been a spectator? No wonder you are disappointed.

Before I could answer him a voice alerted us, "Disconnect within one minute, please."

Okey dokey. Lorraine took Marc’s hand. Time to go home. Jean-Guy, Chris, we’ll be in touch. They disappeared.

Jean-Guy looked at me. You did do well tonight, you know. The Reds aren’t the championship team for nothing.

Yeah, I know. It still hurts, though. I left out that I felt sorry for Jean-Guy; he had told us a few matches ago that he would retire after this sequence. After four years together, I was miffed that he was leaving on a losing note. He’s easily the best web friend I’ve had.

He grinned again. Getting killed usually hurts. But you’ll live. A chime sounded. He looked up, frowning. Just a few seconds, eh. Then he looked back at me with his grin. I’ll be in touch, Chris. Okay?

Definitely. Then I thought about tomorrow. Listen, Jean-Guy, life’s about to get complicated for a short while. Give me two or three days before sending me anything.

Count on it. Have a good one, eh? Jean-Guy vanished.

I tapped my break switch. In a flash I was back in the VR booth, staring at the motion detectors and microphones through the now transparent visor. The door to the booth opened as my boots sank slowly to the floor.

Mrs. Reyd, the booth attendant, was taking off her viewer glasses. That was an excellent match, Mr. Meadows.

I grinned. The fiftiesh red-haired lady with the kindly schoolteacher smile was more often critical than complimentary, so kudos from her meant something. Thanks, Mrs. Reyd. I called her Ms. the first time we met; she told me she preferred Mrs., so Mrs. it was. How much did tonight cost me?

You came out ahead. Tonight’s spectators paid your VR time and put seven hecto-loonies in your account.

Super. I walked briskly to the locker room, got out of my jumpsuit, showered and pulled on my street clothes. The gang was waiting for me at the Barnsider.

But, even though I was in a hurry, I reflected on my other virtual reality friends Lorraine and Marc. Two years ago, when Jean-Guy and I looked for new team members—we had just split from a group that enjoyed eliminating more than winning—we got in touch with the Québec couple Jean-Guy had known for a couple of years but had never gotten together with. The four of us synched almost immediately.

The almost, which is still a sore point, is the couple inviting me to Montréal at every opportunity, as Ottawa is so close. (Jean-Guy, based in Winnipeg, was off the hook.) As politely as possible, I declined.

Me going to Québec? Sure.

The mitigating factor that made it easier was that they also declined my invitations, although they had better reasons to refuse. Their respective jobs kept them close to home for the moment.

In social web situations I had found out that Lorraine worked for her uncle in his import/export business, managing the books and the computer operations. Being away for too long would be problematic.

The times that she could get away, Marc had to stick around. His impatience meant he had trouble keeping a job, so he was regularly just starting somewhere.

I hoped they would still want me as a teammate after Jean-Guy left.

I stopped on my way out to say good night to Mrs. Reyd. She scowled at me behind her large red glasses. May I ask you a quick question, Mr. Meadows?

Sure. What is it?

That last woman who eliminated you was a fish in a barrel. What stopped you from getting her before she got you?

I just shrugged and shook my head.

I didn’t say it, but that bugged me as well. I made a mental note to replay the last minutes of the VR contest to try to figure it out, when I got the chance.

If I remembered, which, based on past mental notes to self I had made, I probably wouldn’t. I really should write these things down.

The gang was still waiting, but I realized this might be the last time I would see Mrs. Reyd for a long time. I made a point of thanking her for the past three years of manning the virtual reality booth. Then I grabbed my backpack and stepped into the Ottawa evening.

Since this May was a warm one, there were more people than usual on the streets. Two groups of teens goofed their way on opposite sides of the street, some stealing glances at the others. An old man shuffled forward quickly, muttering under his breath while shooting suspicious glances to the left and right. Behind him an elderly couple quietly strolled down the block.

I looked up at the steady double-stream of Eggs flowing at roughly 15 metres above the sidewalk. Most people would rather travel a couple of blocks by Egg than have to rely on their own two feet; the passers-by I saw tonight were the exception to the rule. I didn’t have that far to go either, but I was in a hurry.

Reaching the Egg Station at the end of the block, I held my ID ring to the reader next to the reservation terminal for a few seconds until the screen came to life. Thank you for using Ontario Integrated Transit, Christopher Meadows. Will you be choosing your preferred options?

I skimmed the list of preferences in the middle of the screen—single, enclosed, windows on both sides, no radio or TV, and a web plug—and two buttons at the bottom stating YES and NO. I held my ring in close to the YES. The screen showed Thank You. Preferred Options Chosen. Vehicle Will Arrive in Two Minutes. I knew I wouldn’t have time to use the web hook-up in the quick trip to the bar, but choosing the usual was faster than going through all the options, and it didn’t cost any more.

Two minutes later one of the blue-grey Eggs detached from the traffic flow to land in the circle in front of the reservation terminal. As the transport came down the circle on the ground started glowing. A soft chime sounded to warn anyone on the street of the arrival of the Egg.

Once it had landed I stepped up to it and pressed my ring to its sensor. A door plastered with an ad for Sparrow Donuts slid open. I stepped in and sat in the one seat in the Egg.

The door slid silently closed.

The Egg screen wrote and a pleasant male voice—one of the six standard Ontario Integrated Transit voices—said, Hello, Chris Meadows. What is your destination this evening?

I told it, Barnsider on Elgin.

The screen showed Barnsider Bar and Restaurant is located at 352 Elgin near Catherine. CA$2.50 for a rapid trip, CA$4.10 for a casual trip with commentary with three buttons at the bottom of the screen: RAPID, CASUAL and REFUSE. I chose RAPID; the gang was waiting for me, and, anyway, I knew by heart the scenery we were passing.

The Egg rose and merged with the flow of traffic flying swiftly in the inside lanes, while the slower cars