Maggots by Nina Allan

Author:Nina Allan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Rebellion Publishing Ltd

IT WAS DIFFICULT to know how to proceed. For a while I considered contacting one or other of the regular members of Memento Mori, someone who’d interacted with Rose both before and after his apparent breakdown, but then decided this was probably a mistake. There was nothing to suggest that any of the posters had known Rose personally, outside of the forum, I mean. And I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by asking.

I knew Rose lived somewhere in Essex – or at least he had done when he first started posting. My job gives me privileged access to all kinds of information – names, addresses, financials, I can get hold of anything. Unauthorised use of personal data is strictly prohibited, obviously – you can be suspended on the spot just for dialling a phone number unless you’ve filed the appropriate paperwork beforehand – but I thought in the case of Rose it was worth taking a risk. He wasn’t a criminal and he wasn’t on the system. Most of what I wanted was freely available, anyway, if you knew where to look. Who would know?

Telephone records confirmed that Lionel Rose lived in Malden, in Essex. They also threw up something interesting, namely that shortly after his final outburst on Memento Mori, his number had gone ex-directory. I thought it would be unwise to try and talk to him directly, at least to begin with. From his recent behaviour online, the man was clearly locked in a state of deep paranoia, a fact backed up by his choosing to go off the radar. Whatever it was that was bugging him, if I called and asked to speak to him out of the blue he’d probably think I was in on it. How did you come by this number, sir? I could almost hear the words surging towards me down the line.

Far better to find someone who knew him, who knew him well – a wife or partner, a close friend. It can’t be easy, I thought, watching someone you care about go to pieces in front of your eyes. You’d be anxious by now, desperate even. You’d want to confide in someone.

The Rose telephone number was registered to ‘Lionel R. & M. Rose’. It didn’t take much digging to discover that ‘M. Rose’ was actually Marian Rose, a moderately successful crime writer, whose novels were mainly set in East London and the estuary towns. Lionel Rose was an antiquarian bookseller. The two had met at the annual crime writers’ festival in Harrogate.

Should I pose as a reporter, I wondered, or just a fan? Both deceptions seemed shoddy. Even before meeting her I felt a keen affinity with Marian Rose, whose position I felt I understood perfectly.

I knew Rose must be driving her crazy, the same way I’d driven Ronny crazy, and finally away.

Which was why she was exactly the person I needed to talk to.

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