10. The Final Call

                                    

                                          


Irate and exhausted, Gabriel was one phone call from Devin away from committing murder.
He had spent the entire day on his little couch, thinking. An occasional question from his unintelligent assistant and three mugs of coffee was what had kept him awake through the ordeal. And what an ordeal it was- he had finally stumbled upon something solid, and instantly hit dead end. 
Throughout the investigation, the leads had been few to none, but it hadn't been as disappointing since that was what he had anticipated because that was what they had begun with. There had been no clues and no witnesses, and the case itself was so old that even the living witnesses would have little to contribute. But as soon as he had made any real progress, he had been hurled back to square one. Not only would Mrs Gale's photograph amount to next to nothing in the court of law, but the most important clue left by Mr Johnson had also resulted in bitter disappointment.
The odds hardly seemed to be in his favour anymore. Owing to his interpretation of the dead Chief Constable's message, Mr Zhang's testimony had seemed to be the most promising. Now, however, he was once more left with no leads to pursue, like when he had begun, but having already exhausted most of the possibilities. What leads he hadn't investigated, he was sure nothing would come out of them.
What was worse, his meddling had not only proved fruitless, but also resulted in the murder of several witnesses. He applauded the midnight caller for her indifference to the issue, but he couldn't forgive himself for all the innocents who had died in vain. If he continued to investigate regardless, what, then, would be the difference between him and his adversary who killed indiscriminately?
Gabriel found himself on the verge of giving up. He didn't think he could shoulder the responsibility for any more deaths.
His eyes fell on the empty cups on the coffee table and recalled how his assistant had smiled at him as she had left through his door. He was sure she thought him akin to a God of some sort; she was convinced he was omniscient. He scoffed quietly. What did she know of his inner turmoil? He was nothing like a God. A devil, perhaps- a harbinger of disaster for criminals. The only good he had done for the world was to rid the society of notorious criminals; and even then, he had brought disaster to the convicts- and occasionally, death.
Agitated, he rose, his spine aching from several hours of bad posture. He found himself pacing, his eyes eventually falling on the several large boxes he had brought from Katherine Wright's office. Enraged, he kicked away one of them, which tumbled open with its contents strewn across his apartment floor.
Perhaps he had been wrong all along. Perhaps Carter Hill had been guilty. Perhaps he was employed to find more evidence against, not in favour of him.
Pacing violently, he came across the walkie-talkie that had vexed him for days in all its rusted glory. He picked it and threw it across the room with such vigour that it smashed against the wall, losing a few buttons.
He now no longer doubted he had lost his mind. Gabriel laughed. He laughed harder as he heard the telltale static noise fill his room, which was then suddenly shrouded in silence.
"Evening, detective," said the midnight caller. Somehow, she sounded upset.
"What do you have to say now?" He said bitterly. 
"Not much," she said.
"You told me to go after the dead," he spit out. "And I did. But it was nugatory!"
"You should not be disrespectful to the dead." Her tone was almost accusatory. "But no matter. You are an intelligent man, Detective Bedford." It was the first time she had addressed him by his name, and it startled him. "But you are not immune to mistakes. You must remember it is not impossible for you to be wrong."