Day 63
A writing exercise
…
She was so ruthless in her pursuit that soon she forgot why she had started.
It was the only way I could describe the actions of Evelyn Johnson, a mild-mannered young lady who at first sight seemed to be the type of person who anyone would give a second glance; totally out of character.
i remembered that day well because it shook up the working environment that had taken our section head nearly a year to get settled. The right staff with the right qualifications, with the right amount of experience, and able to do their designated jobs.
It was a rare place indeed.
And then the department head arrived one morning and told Kendra, the section head, that there was a new officer starting and she was to be shown all of the processes in turn. That new officer, Evelyn Johnson, recently from Chicago, a big city girl moving to small-town America, in the Midwest. It was the proverbial doubly whammy.
No explanation was given, but the Department Head did have a curious expression on his face when he introduced her. Kendra just shook her head.
This was not the first time it happened. Jeffrey Quirke, the Department Head, had introduced three other young ladies into our department with varying consequences. What we learned afterwards, they were his ‘special projects’, and they didn’t last too long.
Evelyn seemed different, and to me, she looked vaguely familiar, in stature and manner.
Jeffrey Quirke’s expression remained the same, and so we assumed she was going to be another transient ‘special project’.
….
A month later, it was my turn to spend a week introducing her to my specialisation, filing and cataloguing. We used computers, everything passed through a system and was stored in particular places, with a cross index so that there were often four or five categories in the index for a single document.
Before submitting their files for storage the authors had to use several keywords. Of course, most of them didn’t, not because they couldn’t but more they were lazy and knew we would do it for them.
By the time Evelyn got to me, the others had made up their minds about her, she was not who she said she was, certainly she had never been to university, or if she had, not taken anything in, and that she did;t seem to understand the concept of work. She was always late, and had extended lunch hours and disappeared before the official going home time.
She did not attend any of our staff gatherings and didn’t come to the Friday night drinks, our way of winding down so that we could enjoy the weekend. Kendra said she was going to give her the lecture, despite the fact she might go straight to Quirke, but I said I would talk to her first.
“I don’t think you are her type, Joshua,” she said, and she was probably right.
Any time I had tried to talk to her, she simply ignored me. Except if it was work-related. It was going to be a challenge.
Once again she was late, this time an improvement, only ten minutes, and I watched her hasten from the door to the staff room, then emerge a minute or two later and head straight for my desk. she brought herself, and her cell phone. She didn’t take notes. It was not possible she could remember everything we had told her.
After she said, there was no apology, and the smile was thin and annoying.
“You seem to have a problem with time.”
“I’m sorry? What business is it of yours.”
“We all make the effort to get here on time. The section’s performance is measured and a report is compiled, and we were the best in the building, and no we’re not. You may not care, but that performance report is the basis for our productivity bonus. You might ask what business it is of mine, it is very much our business when you are letting the team down.”
“It’s not deliberate.”
“I think it is. You could take an earlier train or bus, or get whoever it is who brings you to leave earlier or find some other way. Unless, of course, you think you are more privileged than we are, or you hail from very rich parents who indulge your every whim and you don’t need the mon ey like everyone else here.”
OK, I think I’d finally stepped over the line, but, if I had, we would find out very soon who she really was.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Then enlighten me so I can understand.”
She sighed. “Just show me what you have to show me and I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”
“Why are you here, anyway?”
“To learn about the systems and the processes.”
“You don’t take notes.”
“Photographic memory. Don’t need to.”
I shook my head. “I don’t believe you.”
She frowned, the took me through the system, from the specifications of the computer server system, the workstations, the filing system, the operating system, the administrative role and tasks, the whole box and dice. The last time I read about the system, before I sat down with it, was reading the system manually, which was 2,000 pages long. My bailiwick was only 150 pages or so.
She concluded about thirty-three minutes later. “So far, collectively between you, you have misquoted the system procedures forty-seven times. My report will make interesting reading for someone…”
There was no mistaking who that someone was in her supercilious tone.
I guess she had proverbially put me in my place.
….
Friday couldn’t come soon enough, and I had managed to get through my part of the system without, I believed, making too many mistakes. The system had varied a little from the manual in places, but by and large, we were still dependent on the manual for guidance.
This Friday was odd, Evelyn was still at work long after she usually left, and it was just after the last employee left, telling me that she would see me at the bar, and not to be too long. The company did not pay overtime and any extra time we spent there was on us. Routinely the only people still in the building after knock-off time was management.
I wondered if she was waiting for Quirke, and they would be on their way to dinner and… I tried not to go there in my mind. Quirke was not what I would call an attractive proposition.
I had gone to the breakout area to put my coffee cup in the dishwasher while she was processing a sample files, and indexing it. When I came back, she had a list of files on the screen. There should only be the one she had just filed.
“What are you doing?” I had to ask, because bringing up files, any files in the system, left an imprint of your login and the date.
Just before she cleared the screen I did see one name of interest, Jocelyn Trent. It was a name I hadn’t heard or seen in at least five years, and quite oddly, one of the first of Quirke’s so-called ‘special projects’.
“I created a few cross-indexes and filed it, and when I did, it brought up all these other files, obviously with the same index keywords. I had no idea that would happen. I didn’t mean for it to.”
Her excuse seemed just a little too pat for my liking. Someone would have to know those keywords to get those files, and there was no way they could be randomly guessed. And now that I thought about it, I had seen her scanning lists of available keywords to use, as if she was looking for something.”
“Who are you really? We all think you’re Quirke’s special project, but I’m beginning to think you’re something else entirely. How do you know Jocelyn Trent?”
“Who?” She tried to look innocent, but I wasn’t buying it.
“don;t play dumb. To get those files you needed to know the secret code.”
“How do you know there’s a secret code?”
“I work in filing and cataloguing. It’d be a bit strange if I didn’t know the system inside out for when the idiots out there forget where they put their documents. But you, you haven;t been here long enough, and those codes are not in any manual. Again, who are you?”
There were two choices here, she was a spy from another company trying to see how we’d improved the system, or she was from the company that supplied the software, a company that was displeased with us because we were locked in a battle over the latest round of licencing fees, after an update that we had all but financed. Then there was how she got past Quirke, though that needed very little imagination.
It just surprised me that she would.
“I’m not sure I like the tone when you call me a special project.”
“You obviously are in tight with Quirke.”
“You are prone to making the wildest of assumptions, aren’t you?”
“Either that and you’re a spy, in which case I will have to call security. And they are not the most pleasant of fellows.
They were not. We all thought they were ex-mercenaries, and then people were escorted from the building we all believed they would never be seen again. I had personally seen Jocelyn Trent escorted from the building, and she was never seen again. Kendra said she heard a rumour she got pregnant with Quirke’s child and he sent her to the other side of the country. A rational explanation rather than the rumour mill conspiracy theory. I preferred the latter.
“I’m no one, Joshua, believe me. Certainly not a spy, and definitely not Quirke’s whore.”
Well, that was pretty definitive, and when she pronounced Quirke’s name there was a very dangerous undertone to it. She hated him.
Then, in the light, daylight giving over to the overhead lighting the way she moved her head, the profile, was exactly the same as Jocelyn Trent. The hair would have been the same if it had been much longer and several shades darker. This girl was much thinner, but if I was to hazard a guess, she was either her twin or younger sister though by only a year.
I tried to remember the conversation Jocelyn and I had about her family. She had been as tight-lipped at this one. We had been friends until something happened, and then I saw her escorted from the building. I tried to find out but there was nothing, and she couldn’t be found.
I’d also tried to find the documents that Evelyn had just brought up and hadn’t because I didn’t know the special code. It was obvious Evelyn did.
“You’re not Evelyn, your real name is Whilomena Trent, isn’t it, Willie for short. Jocelyn said, once, she had a younger sister who hated her name and used her second name which I can’t remember for the moment, but looking at you, I believe you are her twin, and in that younger boy a few minutes.”
She had that look that said she was going to deny it, but then she shrugged. She looked around but there was no one else in the room.
“She liked you Josh.”
Josh was her special name for me. When we were friends.
“She said if I was ever here that I should look you up, but when she left and didn’t come home, I sort of forgot about this place, and everyone in it.”
“Why are you here?”
“I believe she was murdered.”
“By Quirke?”
“He got her pregnant.”
“You know that for sure?”
“That was the last thing she told me while being escorted out of the building. She said she had to clear her things at the apartment and she would be coming home. It was what she told me from the apartment that night. The next day her stuff, phone, everything, was found scattered all over the apartment, apparently tossed by someone who didn’t find what they were looking for. There was a police search for her that lasted a month. Then we got a postcard from her, telling us she had moved to California, and they arrived every few months. It was her writing, and her manner, and she told us she would be home soon, she just had to work through some stuff. I figured she was going to have the baby, adopt it out, then come home. Then she wrote a letter, she’d found a nice Englishman and moved to England, and when she was settled she would send us invites to come and see her. Three months ago, when she was living in California, a man walking his dog came across some bones. Those bones were identified as Jocelyn’s. The police there are trying to piece together her movements, but so much time has passed, they may never solve the crime.”
“And you think there are answers here?”
“I know the answers are here.” She pulled an envelope out of her handbag and gave it to me.
It was addressed to Willie Trent. I took out the single sheet and unfolded it. There was a single line witten in capital letters, “Jeffrey Quirke killed Jocelyn Trent. I saw him do it.”
…
© Charles Heath 2025
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 