Plastic

Chapter 1.

Albert waited quietly in the investigation room, seemingly studying the table in front of him. It was an ordinary table in many ways - white, a plastic of some description, probably a medium density polyethylene compound. Being heavily utilised by the public serving police community suggested to Albert that the table should have some kind of anti-microbial protective resin - on closer inspection of the table's constitution, Albert decided that it in fact did not.

Albert removed his hands from the table.

Detective Julia Morso entered the room with an iPad and a cup of tea. She was in uniform.

"Albert Jennings?" She asked, reading aloud from her iPad.

"Dr Albert Jennings" Albert replied correctively, using a soft polite tone.

"Dr Albert Jennings, of course" Detective Julia conceded politely. "Can I call you Albert, save us some time, yes?" Albert nodded. "Can I get you a cup of tea or some water?"

Albert shook his head. He wanted to be in and out of here as swiftly as possible.

Julia sat down opposite him making herself comfortable. He had noticed she had an English accent of some description, and was decidedly handsome. Her hair was tied back, but wild locks seemed to escape the band, dancing to their own volition. Albert wondered momentarily if Julia enjoyed dancing.

"Look as you know Albert, we have charged your neighbor Derek Jokerby."

Albert nodded. He swallowed a little nervously, being implicated somewhat in that sentence, which seemed to hang in the air. Yesterday. His mind went back there. He had never seen so many police cars. They were lined up the street like christmas lights. Surrounding their apartment building in Rushcutters Bay. Blocking up New South Head road seemingly to the city itself. If COVID wasn't already something to deal with, a serial killer terrorising Sydney residents was the next big ticket item on the social media chat list. How on God's earth had he ended up here.

"How long have you been neighbors?" Julia continued

"Umm. Derek moved into the apartment building on a Friday, August last year. The first Friday in August it would have been."

Julia checked her iPad. "Where are we now. 4th July 2022. That would be 6th August 2021. So give or take a year, yes?"

"Just under 11 months" Albert corrected her politely. Julia nodded and hand typed some entries into the iPad. She wasnt using a pen, which inferred she was using some kind of software Albert decided. A form? Something about this process implied it was extremely systematic, which resounded Albert's desire to be as accurate as possible. Clinical. He was, after all, a doctor.

"And what kind of doctor are you Albert?" Julia inquired. Albert's eye's bulged. He swallowed again, hesitated momentarily, caught in that weird twilight space where somebody just read your mind out in front of you. "Anesthesiologist" he responded. "At St Vincent's Hospital."

"That's a private hospital isn't it?" Detective Julia Morse inquired. "That's correct" Albert responded again. Was there something in her tone that implied there was something wrong with that? Albert's mind was starting to race. What was her first question again? His name. What was the next question?

"Is everything ok Albert? Can't get you something to drink?" Julia asked again. "Maybe some water please." Albert conceded. Julia tapped her iPad.

"So you and Mr Jokerby were neighbors. For almost a year. In that time, the COVID killer murdered 17 female victims across the metropolitan area of Sydney." Albert waited for the question.

"Did it strike you as odd that Mr Jokerby's wife went missing 12 months ago?"

"I didnt know she was missing." Albert replied. "When I met Derek, he was recently divorced and trying to get back on his feet."

"He was recently divorced?" Julia asked him.

"Yes, well at least that's what he explained to me."

"And you are also divorced, is that correct, Albert?"

"Yes."

"And how long have you been divorced for?"

"11 years." Albert replied. 11 years. 1 year longer than he had been married.

"Did Derek ever talk about murder?" Julia asked Albert directly.

"No! Never!" Albert responded loudly, almost in a panic. She'd gone and said it. That M word. M for Murder. M for More time. The M that sat in the word implication, that resembled the idea of Me, and commenced the catch phrase My God.

"But you were close" Julia continued. "You and Derek spent a lot of time together. You were friends." Albert was waiting for the question. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Julia stood up, and opened the door. She reached out her hand, shut the door. She turned and walked to the table, and placed a cup of water in front of Dr Albert Jennings. He studied the cup. It wasn't glass. It was plastic. Most likely polymethyl methacrylate, a form of acrylic. 20 times more shatter resistant than glass.

Albert's mind went back to that winter's day when Derek had moved into the apartment building. There was music. Jazz. Not Coltrane. Davis. Miles Davis. Some kinda Blue? Albert thought that was the name of the album. It was playing into the hall as he came home from a night shift at St Vincents hospital. He was feeling miserable. It was around the 10 year anniversary of his divorce, and he was lonely. He had walked past what had previously been the privately occupied residence of some invisible Sydney tenant - probably someone like him. Working in a professional capacity, earning good money, spending most of that on a mortgage, rent and/or alcohol. Best friends with their television. Following the property market in a fever. But suddenly laughter cut through the mix, permeating this sensational diffraction. It was almost as if Albert was momentarily gliding across a threshold of happiness. He felt his mood lift and his curiosity got the better of him as he paused and peaked inside the doorway. Just a peak. Just a little look.

"Oh G'day mate how are you!" A mid-aged sprucely fellow came barrelling to the door with his hand outstretched in a benevolent signature of welcome, smiling and glaringly confident. "Derek. Just moved in! You must be the neighbor"

"G'day" Albert took his hand. He had a firm handshake and even followed up the hand shake with a second hand, almost an affectionate gesture. "Albert. Pleasure to meet you."

"Come in! Sorry bud, bit of a mess but I've just put on some breakfast! Coffee? Or Bloody Mary? Ay?!"

Derek had laughed openly at himself, but he was already reaching for the celery before Albert could even say whether he wanted it or not, whether he wanted to come in or not, if he felt like having breakfast or not. But that was the strange thing - he did want all of those things. It was somehow like being in the company of your favourite football team, you just had the feeling like you felt privileged for being there.

Albert just nodded and smiled, as he stepped across the threshold. He was already feeling much, much better.

Chapter 2.

"Would you say that you saw each other everyday?" Julia asked.

"No!" Albert responded emphatically. "In truth I think I barely saw Derek more than once a month!"

"But you said in your statement that you socialised together. You were both members of the Rushcutters Yacht Club, isn't that true?" Julia continued.

"Yes it's true. But I hardly saw Derek there. I think once or twice we raced together, but it wasnt more often than that." Albert replied.

Albert suddenly felt a sense of nostalgia. That was the last time he had seen Derek. As they sailed beneath the coat hanger. Derek was on the helm, in his red racing jacket. He was commanding a 100m maxi yacht, and had just out maneuvered Comanche in the kind of corner that would make you shit your pants. He had steered Prince of Penzance right at the guts of their rival as they jockeyed for placement on the last turn of the race, and pushed her out wide of the corner. The captain of Comanche on that day was a replacement crew member, who had rightfully panicked as the full force of Penzance came rumbling down upon them mid-bend. Not reading the bluff strategique intelligently, the Comanche's temp captain had panicked and gone wide. They would undoubtedly register a complaint with the official race coordinators, but it made no difference. Yes they had right of way. But...they freaked out and changed course. There was no rule that could help them for that.

Derek, the Joker, Jokerby had just out maneuvered the current standing Sydney to Hobart champion team, as Prince of Penzance roared down the harbour to adhoc, undulating cries of proud Sydney supporters ebbing from nearby watercraft, and cheers of the crew readying the sails as they coursed towards the finish line. Albert had put his arm around Derek and given him a huge hug. It was one of the proudest moments of his life. Derek was more than just a mate that day. Derek had just become a legend.

"What kind of races did you compete in?" Julia asked Albert.

"The Maxi's. The 100m guys. We were training for Sydney to Hobart. Derek introduced me to the club shortly after we met, and I developed a passion for yachting."

"Sounds like you were close" Julia continued.

"As I said, we were part of the same club but rarely on the same team. Derek was a much more experienced sailor. It took me as long as I knew him to get onto the big boats. He was already in that class group." Albert finished.

"But he introduced you to yachting?" Julia asked again.

"Correct." Albert replied. He took a sip of water.

"What do you know about the COVID Killer murders?" Julia asked, changing tact.

Albert shrugged. "Just what I read in the papers. A serial killer. 17 women murdered."

"17 that we know of Albert" Julia finished. Albert nodded.

"Did Derek ever talk much about what he did for work to you Albert?" Julia asked.

"He was bio-medical engineer. Medical technology design with advanced plastics." Albert responded.

"So not too far removed from your own field of expertise?" Julia asked rhetorically. Her tone was gentle and curious, almost persuasive.

"Not too far" Albert finished. Julia waited, considering Albert. There was a gap in the conversation which seemed intentional, and he felt as if she wanted him to fill it in.

"We talked about work alot, to be honest. On the occasions we met. That was where our similarity was I suppose. Derek was curious about the use of med tech products in patients and how they responded after surgery, and I was at the coal face. Managing patients through surgery is what I do."

"And Derek's company had a contract with St Vincents hospital?" Julia asked again, rhetorically.

"Correct. Derek was the founder of a med-tech company called Biomedical Plastique, and one of their sales representatives had pitched a spinal replacement product to the St Vincent's hospital board. The board liked it, and had began including the product to treat spinal injuries."

"But don't you need stem cell implants to manage spinal injuries?"

"It hasnt been proven." Albert replied shortly. This was the first time in their dialogue that he finally had the upperhand in the conversation, and he wanted to take his time as he explained to the semi-young detective how the medical break-through program at St Vincents was taking the world by storm.

"Stem cells go some way to revitalising the damaged area of a spinal injury. The plastic vertebrate Derek's company was manufacturing used fluid engineering technology and a component of AI to reconstruct a virtual spinal cord." Albert said.

"A...virtual spinal cord?" Julia asked.

"Correct. The vertebrate convinces the body it is just a normal vertebrate, and the stem cells stimulate the surrounding tissue and fluids. The AI technology built into the vertebrate facilitates organic transmission of substances through the plastic, essentially recreating a living, organic body part - but fundamentally, it's a piece of plastic."

"And you were conducting this kind of...implant surgery, at St Vincent's?" Julia asked.

"Not just conducting." Albert replied. "Succeeding."

Julia stared at Albert incredulously for the first time in their entire conversation.

"You mean.."

"We were helping people with spinal injuries to walk again." Albert finished.

Detective Julia Morso was dumb struck for the first time in her career as a high profile Sydney detective.

"I think we should take a break." She said.

Albert nodded, finishing his water.

Julia picked up the empty plastic cup, and left the room.

Chapter 3.

Albert had time to think for a minute. He was aware of the two way mirror on the side of the investigation room monitoring his every movement, a camera would be on a tripod, video recording this interview. There would be another detective or detectives sitting behind that glass taking notes, analysing his behaviour, pressure testing his answers. Maybe there would be a Senior Investigation Officer, meeting with Detective Morso outside right now, instructing her where to go with her questioning.

The two way mirror was something of a phenomenon in itself - it was difficult to tell from this distance whether it was glass or plastic acrylic. Historically glass was the material of choice, but more and more plastic was taking over. Glass was more prehistoric in obvious ways. Even the Mesopotamians had glass, and that was 3500 BC. It was a fairly straight forward process - heating sand or silicon at high levels until it melted, then shaping the molten solid accordingly. Somewhere in Syria 1000 BC glass blowing became a thing, and bottles were invented. There were numerous uses for glass as a product which expanded enormously during the Roman era, but it wasnt until 13 century AD when glass took its place on the art's mantelpiece, and the emergence of stained glass windows took Europe by storm - decorating cathedrals and churches in wonderous colourful glamour. Telling biblical stories in beautiful colour.

It could be a glass window, Albert decided. Windows weren't really invented until the turn of the 20th century as a response to the growing demand for housing products. Some American inventor came up with sheet glass, worked out a way to mass produce it, and - well we all know where that story goes. The whole world took a step forward in constructive evolution.

Skyscrapers.

Albert looked at his reflection in the two way mirror. Essentially it operated much in the same manner as a one way mirror, except the aluminium baked between the sheets was much less sparse - if there was more light on the side of the interview room than the observatory room it would appear as a one way mirror. If the detectives on the far side of the pane accidentally hit the light switch it would suddenly appear as a normal, transparent window pane.

Albert stifled a laugh at the thought of a room full of detectives suddenly becoming illuminated in shock, staring at him in sudden apparition all mouth's agape - Then disappearing just as quickly, behind the mirror.

It reminded Albert of a Gary Larson joke. He quickly put his hand over his mouth and pretended to cough.

In Australian law, you had the right to silence. Albert could sit here and say 'no comment' all the way to the courtroom if he chose, but he would have to explain to a magistrate why he didn't assist the police in their investigation which could be perceived as incriminating.

Then of course there was the alternative choice of being fully cooperative. The issue with going down that path, even if he wanted to, was being overly helpful in the face of a police team who could be very coercive - lead you into the grip of a detailed story that you unwittingly agree to, then smash you with a challenge - refuting key points of your story and throwing the whole book at you at once to see if you crack under pressure. Even if it's not true, sometimes trying to unwind a lengthy spool can get you into a deeper tangle. And while it may sound exaggerated, people do crack at the thought of a lifetime behind bars - they will literally confess to anything to shave away that time. Albert glanced around the empty interview room, and thought about sitting alone in here for a day. A week. A year.. he began to shudder, then quickly pulled himself out of it. This is what they wanted. They wanted you to think about the consequences.

Albert had his innocence to stand by but he was being incriminated by virtue of familiarity - if Derek had done these things. Had somehow murdered all these women. Then it had happened right under Albert's nose. Maybe even next door to his apartment. Within 15m square metres of geometric space. Possibly time and time again. The police would never be able to let that go - not with his proven close relationship with Derek - Neighbors. Friends. Colleagues. Medical heroes. Shipmates.

Like brothers.

Albert remembered putting his hand around Derek's shoulder during that yacht race. Did somebody photograph him? He could be in a serious amount of trouble here. And he didn't even know what Derek was going to say yet. He didn't really know anything to be honest. Except for that one, awkward night. The last time he saw Derek a fortnight ago .. Albert pushed the thought from his mind. It was .. strange.

17 women. In less than 12 months. It was the bloodiest killing streak anybody had heard of in recent history. It had almost become a household nomenclature - COVID Killer. 2022, the year of getting double unlucky. If COVID didn't come knocking, the COVID Killer wasn't going to even bother.. 2022. Relentless.

And it wasnt just the expediency of the murders that was the concern. It was the victim profiles. All middle age, upper-middle working class sydney socialites. Private school background, affluent area codes - popular girls. Number 17 was the final straw before the liberal government stopped short of martial law - number 17. Grace Byford.

The premier's daughter.

The door suddenly opened. Albert sat up, ready to talk.

Chapter 4.

"Morso" Captain Grundy called her out as she walked back down the hall with a cup of water.

"Captain" She replied.

"How you going in there?" He asked.

"There's a few positive connectors" Detective Julia Morso responded. "Social life. Work life. Neighbours. There's more of a relationship there than he's alluding to, my instinct tells me."

"I agree" Captain Grundy said. "I just spoke with the SIO. He's watching the live tape with the team. Try to get some insight into their social life more. Maybe that can shed some light on things. The task force are interviewing Jokersby now. We'll run some questions in the mix about Albert, see if anything comes up from their end." He said.

"Ok" Julia responded. She turned and faced the interview room door, and took a moment.

Julia stepped into the interview room. She placed the cup of water on the table. "Thanks" Albert said. He took a mouthful of water.

"Tell me about the last time you saw Derek?" She asked.

It wasnt the first time Albert had been surprised the detective managed to ask the very question that sat at the forefront of his mind.

"The last time I saw Derek?" Albert asked nobody in particular. "Must have been.. two weeks ago. After.. the party"

"What was the party for?" Julia asked.

"The yacht club. We had just come out of lock down. Just among the members. It was a pretty close knit event."

Albert thought about the party. It was a Saturday night, and Derek wanted to introduce him to one of his colleagues. Samantha. He began to explain to Detective Morso the events of the night.

"Samantha this is my neighbour and new best mate! Alberto - this is my ex-girlfriend and still close mate Samantha Eski!" Albert had extended his hand and said a warm hello. Samantha had smiled and said hi. "I think I've seen you down here before" Albert said. Samantha nodded. "I race in the hydrofoil division." She said. "Samantha is also a leading heart doctor, and from experience, I can promise you she can break 'em as well as she can fix 'em!" Derek winked, laughing somewhat drunkenly at his bad joke. Nobody else laughed.

Samantha rolled her eyes, which was Derek's queue to leave the conversation and find another drink. "He can be lousy sometimes after too many of these ones" Samantha said to Albert, indicating her glass. "Where are you from?" Albert asked her. "Potts Point." Samantha replied. She was very pretty, Albert noticed. Shorter than him, short, dark hair and very fit. "But originally my family are from Seoul." "Oh! - Wi-ha-yeo!" Albert exclaimed, raising his glass. "Oh! You can speak Korean?!" Samantha asked him. "Just the drinking words" Albert consoled her, smiling. "At least the ones I can remember. I did a registrar stint in Seoul a lifetime ago in my youth. It was eye opening! And Koreans seriously know how to drink!"

Samantha smiled at that. "We do! I miss the home country more and more these days - but if you think property prices in Sydney are ridiculous, wait until you go back to Seoul. It's the fastest developing property market in the world! People are going crazy for these tiny shit box apartments..cray cray" Samantha finished her drink in one gulp. Albert followed suit. "Han jan?" He asked her hopefully, raising an empty glass. "Sure" Samantha laughed, "I could go another.."

"Where is this story going Albert?" Julia interrupted. "I thought you were going to talk to me about Derek, not getting lucky with some Korean heart doctor."

"I'm explaining." Albert said. "That night, after we left, we ended up... back at her place in Potts Point. Some enormous place on the harbour. And..one thing led to another. Anyway. When I woke up in the morning.."

Albert paused, and took a moment.

"When I woke up in the morning. He was sitting in the room."

"Derek Jokersby? Was sitting in the bedroom - when you woke up?" Julia asked him.

"Yes. That was the last time I saw him."

"What did you say to him?" she asked.

"He was drunk. Still dressed in his evening wear. He explained it was a joke, he still had a key, that Samantha was a heavy sleeper and wouldn't wake up. I dunno really. It was strange. I was uncomfortable - I asked him to leave. He kind of laughed, told me not to get so serious or something... and he just left. We hadn't spoken since that morning."

"Did you speak to Samantha about it?" Julia asked him. Albert shook his head. "I haven't spoken to her about it at all. I didn't know what to do - I just grabbed my things and left. It was strange."

Julia studied Albert for a moment and made some notes in her iPad. "And it was Smanatha Eski, yes?"

"Correct" Albert responded. He cleared his throat. "There was something else." Albert began slowly. "Oh?" Julia asked.

"He had something in his hands. It looked .. like a piece of plastic. Something, I couldn't make out what it was." Albert paused.

"And?" Julia could sense Albert wanted to say more.

"There was some blood on his shirt, near the collar, I think. I hadn't thought about it much before, well before just now to be honest. I thought maybe he'd been up all night partying, he was that kind of guy. It looked like a splash or something, a small trail, like a tick, under his neck line. On the white collar."

"What night was this party?" Julia asked again.

"Saturday night, two weeks ago at the Rushcutter's Yacht Club." Albert replied.

Julia suddenly stood from the table. "I'm going to need to talk to my supervisor - please give me 5 minutes."

"Sure" Albert responded. He sipped his water. Detective Morso left the room.

Albert felt guilty. Like he may have just sold out his one and only friend.

Chapter 5

Albert sat alone again in the interview room. His sense of guilt was starting to become overshadowed by a sense of relief. The last two weeks had been emotionally draining, as he had replayed the events of that morning over and over in his mind. Was he not meant to be in that house? Had he upset or offended Derek in some way? He felt like he had crossed some invisible line. Should he have asked permission to sleep with Samantha?

Derek's apartment had been distinctly quiet from that day forward, and he had felt a distinguished icey tone emanating from the space next door. He had desperately wanted to see Samantha again, but in and among the internal turmoil, all he could think of was trying to apologise to Derek to repair whatever rift had emerged between them. Even if the events of that morning had left a bad taste in his mouth... but having his privacy invaded, having his manhood challenged. That was the other aspect of this situation driving the inner turmoil. A deeply inset sense of betrayal. Knowing that not only would he never do something like break into somebody's home and confront somebody out of jealousy - that also it was completely illegal! And what about Samantha? He knew he should have reached out to her...but he didnt know how.

Albert had been caught twixt conscience and emotion for a fortnight, and the police were now coming to his rescue. Again, he pushed the thought from his mind as waves of emotional betrayal took over. He had just given his best friend a death sentence. He remembered the coat hanger. Arm wrapped tightly around the shoulder of his mate. A friend who had pulled him out of the darkness, had offered him a hand in his loneliest hour. Had shown him love, had made him happy, had offered him a woman to make love to. And what had he, Dr Albert Gershwin, done with all of that kindness? Albert almost began to cry, sitting alone in the interview room. He quickly turned his mind to logical reasoning - a technique he had learned somewhere in his life around emotional compartmentalisation. When something became overwhelming in your mind you focused on something technical - and intently.

Albert stared at the plastic cup sitting in front of him. Plastic, now the largest and most produced substance in the entire world. Plastic. The most ubiquitous and useful material mankind had ever manufactured. Plastic. Something in the corner of his mind told him it had originally been invented as a substitute for ivory. Plastic. Hero. Preventing the slaughter and culling of the majestic elephant for billiard balls. Albert imagined the beautiful elephant. Rudyard Kipling. Modoc. He had seen a painted elephant once, walking up the deserted streets of Jaipur at a Hindu festival. It's face glowing in crayon and clay and luminescent paint. Glowing beads. Plastic. And it had found so many uses in life! Containers, weapons, rocket ships, medical labs.

Albert felt the swelling emotions subsiding. Plastic...

The door handle of the interview room turned. It was like a trigger. Suddenly panic set in again. He had just given up his friend. Had he implicated himself? Were they coming for him? He was back in the bedroom. Derek was sitting at the end of the bed. He was talking to him, in some kind of weird daze. Was he drunk? No. Albert knew that now. He had just killed somebody. The blood on the collar. The weapon in his hand. Plastic. Albert had been conversing with a serial killer. He had just slept with his ex-girlfriend. He was lying naked and helpless within arm's reach. Panic. Panic. Panic. The door handle reached its zenith. In any moment it was going to open, and he was going to be exposed. He was going to go to jail. He was going to die.

Albert squeezed his eyes tight. Plastic. Synthetic polymers. Artificial versions of natural occurring polymers such as hair, silk, DNA. Repeating molecule sequences of subunits in a network chain. Plastic. Environmentally destructive. Malleable. Versatile. Viscoelastic. It was the reason why Albert was sitting in this room. The reason why Derek was going to jail. The reason why mankind could explore space. The reason why he and Derek were ever friends in the first place. That first morning. The music. The laughter. The bloody mary. He had come out of there in a daze. He was staring down at his hand. A plastic piece of vertebrae. Resting gently in his palm. This device. A miracle cure. Plastic.

It was the first patient he came to see after her operation. Their first trial of the biomedical implant. She moved her legs in the bed. She was smiling.

She was smiling up at him. This beautiful young life. She was happy. And she was going to walk again and grow to become a beautiful, majestic woman.

Plastic.

Samantha's hair splayed out dark against the white pillow. Tight lengths of hair bound in colourful plastic bands. A face he had never seen look so beautiful before.

Plastic.

That nauseous feeling Albert discovered when he realised he wasnt alone in the bedroom. Derek fidgeting with something in his hands.

Plastic.

The door to the interview slowly creaking open as Albert accepted whatever his fate would be was about to happen right now.

Plastic.

The evolution of glass. The next great step in technological enterprise in humanity's intuitive search for advancement. Medicine, treatment, quality of life.

His purpose.

"Albert."

The words hung in the air for the briefest of moments.

Albert opened his eyes and looked up at Detective Morso standing in the doorway.

"We have everything we need for today. You can go home now."

Albert nodded. He stood up from the table, gazing down briefly at the empty plastic cup sitting quite ordinarily on the white, interview table.

"Thank you detective." He said directly.

Dr Albert Gershwin left the room.

The end.