MI5 Persecution: Dirk Gently on the Toronto Case

irk was on the West Coast when he got the call. An old
friend at the Toronto police department thought he would like
to fly up and take a look at a homicide which had occurred
the previous evening. He decided to skip the last day at the
World Holistics conference and take the next plane out of
San Francisco.
The flight was bad; Dirk had been hit on the back of the head
by the Newspaper trolley, the drinks trolley, the dinner trolley
and now the gift trolley. When the hostesses weren’t trying to
tear his arm off they pestered him to stop leaning into the aisle
– ignoring the fact that the guy next to him was taking up one and
a half seats. Air Canada used to be the flight which was so
good you just didn’t wanna get off – on this occasion Dirk
would be glad to see the back of the plane and the over sized
alternative comedian wedged into the window seat.
After breathing in a couple of lungfulls of crisp Canadian air
Dirk took a taxi into town. There was a small group of
demonstrators outside the MacDonalds and the taxi driver
insisted on stopping on the opposite side of the street. ‘Don’t
Eat Meat’ the placards read and the demonstrators chanted. A
couple of policemen where stopping the crowd entering the
restaurant itself – one held up his arm and challenged Dirk. A
wave of the fax he had been sent and the policeman pushed
open the door.
There were few customers in the restaurant. Not surprising
really with a demonstration going on outside, half the dining
area roped off with tape and a dead body seated at one of the
tables. ‘Mr Gently sir’ the officer in charge called out as he
peeled one end of the tape off a column ‘We were told not to
touch anything til’ you got here’.
The body of the man slumped awkwardly in a chair. Then
even a dead body would start getting uncomfortable in a
MacDonalds chair after twenty minutes – and this one had
been there for at least eighteen hours. Two back legs and the
tail of a cat hung out of the man’s gaping mouth. Dirk turned
to the officer, ‘I suppose you are going to tell me this is the
darndest thing you ever saw?’
‘Ain’t this the darnd...’. The officer seemed annoyed that Dirk
had second guessed him. ‘We’re removing the body in a few
minutes, so if you can get through as quick as possible’
‘Many people eat cats in fast food restaurants?’ Dirk asked
and without waiting for an answer leant over the table to pick
up an untouched burger. ‘And what’s this?’ he asked waving
it in front of the officers face.
‘It’s a Vedgie Burger’ The waitress, who was cleaning one of
the adjacent tables, shouted across. She walked over to Dirk.
‘We started doing them because of that lot out there’ she
nodded towards the protesters who were pressing there faces
against the windows ‘They’re called Linda McCartney Vedgie
burgers – ever heard of them?’
Dirk suddenly felt faint, perhaps a combination of hunger and
jet lag. ‘This is deja vu all over again’ he thought to himself.
He glanced at policemen – at the badge on his shoulder ‘OPD’
but this wasn’t Ontario this was Toronto. OPD – Officially
Pronounced Dead. It dawned on Dirk what was happening, he
knew what he would see if he looked out of the window. Sure
enough, there it was, the Volkswagen Beetle parked across
the road – number plate 28IF – 28 IF Paul McCartney had
lived. And amongst the lyrics of the song blaring out into the
restaurant he could pick out the words ‘I buried Paul’. Now it
was though Dirk was viewing the whole scene though a TV
screen. This was conspiracy. Not –a– conspiracy, or –the–
conspiracy, but just plain conspiracy.
‘You look faint – are you OK mister? The waitress asked.
Dirk shook his head ‘Probably a bit hungry’ Then to
economise on dialogue took out a pack of cigarettes and held
it out towards the girl. She was about to take one but Dirk
snatched the pack away, held it up to his mouth and drew out
two cigarettes. He lit both then passed one of them to the girl.
It was the closest he had come to a sexual encounter in three
months.
‘Want a Burger?’ the waitress asked.
Dirk looked down at the Vedgie Burger on the table. ‘No
thanks – just a plate of fries’
The waitress walked away and Dirk looked around the room.
Apart from a family seated in the far corner there was only
one other person in the restaurant – and he wasn’t eating. The
guy was about mid twenties and had straggling, shoulder
length hair. On the table in front of him were lots of pieces of
paper cut into squares. Every so often he would pick up a
camcorder and pan it around the room and then, when he was
finished, speak into a microphone which was attached to a
tape recorder. Dirk walked over to where the man was sitting.
The small pieces of paper had paragraphs of text written on
them and were stuck to the top of table with blobs of mustard.
Lines had been drawn, some solid some dotted, on the table
top with a marker pen. The lines ran from one piece of paper
to another.
‘What are the lines for?’ Dirk asked, realising straight away
that ‘What the hell are you doing?’ would be more
appropriate.
‘You see’ The man replied nervously ‘The dotted lines are
weak links and the solid lines are strong links. The dotted
lines are things which are happening in the rest of the world
and the solid lines are things which are happening to me. Now
you see I draw over a dotted line, replacing it with a solid line,
when I can link something back to me. Like this’ The pen
squeaked over the Formica and before Dirk could interrupt
the man added. ‘You see I lost my short term memory and, as
a consequence have a very short attention span. I write down,
record and film everything then put it all together later’
‘So’ Dirk interrupted. ‘You filmed what happened here?’
‘Yes, yes, it’s here on this tape’ The man pushed the cassette
across the table. On the label the words ‘Grassy Knoll’ had
been crossed through and replaced with ‘MacDonalds’.
Suddenly the man sprung from his seat. Dirk turned and saw
that the body was being removed on a stretcher. As it passed
the man picked a small object off the edge of the stretcher
itself. ‘This is important’ he said, laying a blood stained bullet
on one of the small pieces of paper on the table.
Suddenly the room was filled with a deafening throbbing
sound as a Black Helicopter landed in the street outside. Two
men in United Nations uniforms got out and collected the
stretcher. Back at the table the long haired man was replacing
all the dotted lines with solid ones. Dirk panicked and began
to walk backwards at some speed. Barging through the swing
doors he stumbled into the kitchen, tripped and felt himself
sink slowly into a large vat.
‘The guys fallen into the batter’ Dick heard someone shout
before he sunk below the surface. He came to sitting in