Exposure (The Reluctant Doorkeeper Trilogy Book 3)

Book summary

In "Exposure," set in the futuristic world of New Year 2101, Emma, a trainee doorkeeper, faces a dilemma when her lover Cal is imprisoned for a food-related offense. Suspicions fall on Cal's sister-in-law, Sonya, and as Emma rises through the ranks, she investigates the case. However, her efforts are overshadowed by sinister tasks assigned by her scheming superior, Colin Theobald. Balancing her quest for political change with her official duties becomes increasingly precarious in the menacing atmosphere of Melbourne City Productive Citizens Bureau.

Excerpt from Exposure (The Reluctant Doorkeeper Trilogy Book 3)

Midnight, Australian Eastern Standard Time, first day of the month named January, in the year numbered 2101. A new year birthing, celebrations to mark the change of date, as though time-honoured tradition could promise transformation in a fractured world. In the southern mega-city of Melbourne, night-workers have gathered on the banks of the murky Yarra River to watch a fireworks display designed to demonstrate a government’s munificence, while around immense Port Phillip Bay, crowds stand on crumbling cliffs and degraded foreshores, hoping for a glimpse of distant delights. Rockets, fired from offshore barges to minimise fire risk, explode with rainbow stars, silver showers and Catherine-wheels. Citizens cheer, their voices rising into a pollution-smudged sky. Present tense contentment, a brief window when the past can be ignored and the future dismissed as unknowable, therefore irrelevant.

***

Meanwhile, in the bayside suburb of Safety Beach, eighty-three kilometres southeast of the city centre, a woman lay alone and sleepless in her ninth-floor apartment bedroom, contemplating what should have been the beginning of a new life had government authorities not intervened. A New Year’s Eve partnership ceremony, culmination of a momentous year for Trainee Doorkeeper, Emma Cartwright and market co-owner, Callum Ritchie. Being older citizens – she seventy-one, he sixty-one – and previously partnered, neither of them had wanted an elaborate celebration, preferring to share the occasion with just family and a few good friends. Family for Emma comprised son Jack, aged twenty, second cousin, Delta and Delta’s daughter, Eve, whereas the Ritchie clan encompassed Cal’s twin brother Dugald, his partner Sonya, their twins Holly and Maurice, aged seventeen and Sonya’s mother, Dorothea. Sufficient for an enjoyable evening within the elegant dining room of Mornington’s oldest home.

Instead, due to diligent officers or, more likely, an Informer’s tip-off, Cal had spent his second night in a cell at Frankston police station, while Emma and Jack passed New Year’s Eve at home. Around midnight, all three had heard the loud voices of adults and children welcoming the century’s second year, followed soon afterwards by shrill sirens and pounding boots as local police rounded up the unruly and intoxicated. Known troublemakers would be thrown in cells at the nearest police station to spend the remaining hours of darkness sobering up; the rest issued with on-the-spot fines, their wrist-bands pinging as funds transferred from personal accounts to government coffers.

No longer in possession of his wrist-band – the duty officer having removed it the previous evening – Cal’s auditory entertainment was limited to strident singing as cheerful citizens made their way home along darkened streets, juxtaposed with the groans and protests of incarcerated drunks in adjoining cells. By now, he should have been freed on bail and driving with Emma to their honeymoon destination. His court appearance had been scheduled for ten the previous morning, but barrister Penelope Watts-Smith had advised a delay until the following Tuesday, the Frankston magistrate having decided at the last minute to add extra leave to his already extended weekend.

As voices melted into warm night air, Emma wished she’d joined Jack in several double-shot whiskies to allay end-of-year trauma. No doubt Jack would be deep in sleep by now, probably dreaming of his new friend Olivia, who’d expressed interest in sharing the apartment when Emma took up residence in Cal’s Mornington home. If, she reminded herself, as the charge of illegally importing foodstuffs carried a prison sentence.

Whatever had led Cal to load the stock destined for Bay-enders Camp into his truck and set off down the Peninsula late on Wednesday evening, remained a mystery, Emma’s request to visit him having been denied. Initially, they had intended to move the supplies – stacked against a wall in the garage – into the backyard shed to create space for Emma’s new car, but that idea had had to be shelved when the timber structure was smashed to pieces during a severe storm. The goods in question were in fact locally produced but left unmarked to prevent factory identification should an over-zealous worker happen to investigate goods deposited at the Peninsula recycling centre. Every few months, Cal removed rubbish and recycling from the unsanctioned camp.

At least – according to Penelope – Cal hadn’t been headed for his farmhouse where he maintained a database for all East Coast camps and sometimes offered temporary shelter to citizens desperate to drop out. The farmhouse, dilapidated on the outside but well appointed within, served as a “station” on a contemporary “underground railroad” that led in due course to a life free from increasingly repressive laws. Not that any of the runaways were known criminals; Cal and his co-conspirators were opposed to dealing with that fraternity. Likewise, the members of Citizen’s Voice, an undercover group dedicated to procuring constitutional change, preferred to engage in acts of civil disobedience rather than overt violence.

During the eighteen months since CV’s inception, its committee had organised strikes and public demonstrations – illegal under current legislation – but to date the only outcome had been arrests, a suite of retaliatory laws and increased surveillance. Convener Cal’s arrest on a rarely used dirt road in the uninhabited centre of the Mornington Peninsula, confirmed he remained “a person of interest”. For months, Emma had suspected that his brother, Dugald, was a government Informer, his intention to take total control of Ritchie Brothers Markets once Cal was safety behind bars. But, having been a guest in the opulent Ritchie-Beaumont residence on several occasions, she wasn’t so sure. Partner Sonya was clearly in control, with bullyboy Dugald reverting to biddable male the moment he entered the domestic sphere.

The initial family and soon-to-be-family gathering had progressed as expected, Sonya the epitome of a charming hostess, until an odd statement had sown a seed of doubt in Emma’s mind.

‘I make a point of learning all I can about a person, especially one about to become a family member,’ Sonya had said, as the two women conversed in the upstairs lounge, having left the brothers discussing business in the living room below.

Friendly advice to toe the family line, or a warning that she wouldn’t hesitate to report suspicious behaviour? Emma had yet to decide.

Government Informers came from all strata of society but proving Sonya had been instrumental in placing Cal under surveillance was another matter, and something Emma couldn’t consider until he was released, either on bail or following acquittal. However, as a TDK (Trainee Doorkeeper) who was recruited now and then by Chief Allocations Officer Colin Theobald for intelligence missions, in theory, Emma could access more than the files of unemployed citizens. She already knew that Casual Government Informers, (CGIs), were listed at the end of Permanent Government Informers, (PGIs), having noticed the heading when checking the status of a citizen for Colin’s unofficial sidekick, Training Office Manager Sarah Holmes.

Emma’s lips curled into a smile as she automatically added Part-Time Lover (PTL) to Sarah’s list of duties, in keeping with the persistent use of acronyms at the PCB. During the working week, Colin and Sarah co-habited in a CBD apartment, with weekends and holidays reserved for his legitimate family. An image of the pair making high-energy love – both were heavily into physical fitness – produced a second smile, reducing the tension that had pervaded her body since learning of Cal’s arrest. Turning on her side, she reached for the spare pillow, wrapping her arms around the cool cotton. A poor substitute for her lover, but it might help to induce sleep.

The long weekend passed faster than Emma had expected. She spent most of Saturday at Cal’s house, retrieving sufficient clothes for at least a month and packing them into her car, then tackling dust and cobwebs in the now empty garage. Sunday, she spent with friends, Janet and Luke, partly to discuss the ramifications of Cal’s arrest for CV, and partly because she couldn’t bear the thought of hours alone in the apartment, Jack having offered to help Dugald sort produce at the depot.

Shocked by the charge against his brother – genuinely, Emma believed – Dugald maintained it had to be a mistake, as Ritchie Brothers Markets were in the business of supplying Australian fruit and vegetables to stallholders at each of their six Peninsula venues, rather than dealing in illegal imports. ‘Do you know where he bought the stuff?’ he asked Emma, towards the end of a lengthy call.

‘I have no idea,’ she answered honestly, Cal having made no mention of the boxes’ origins. ‘It’s not as though we needed to stock up, the pantry’s full.’

‘Emma, dear, we’re not talking about supplies for one household. According to our barrister, there was enough in his truck to feed a small village.’

A village of old men, Emma thought, grateful that a dusty wrist-band screen camouflaged her flushed cheeks. ‘Old stock, perhaps, obtained cheaply. You know how much Cal loves a bargain.’

‘Bloody fool probably got talked into it by some shady type he met in a bar. I hope he can identify the bugger.’

Emma sighed. ‘I doubt the vendor would have used a legitimate name.’

‘It won’t go well if Cal knew they were stolen.’

‘No, and I’m not sure pleading ignorance would help, either.’

‘Hang in there, Emma. We’ll get it sorted. Must go, got to pick up the kids from Pamper Point. Sonya’s gone to her usual Monday women’s meeting.’

‘Thanks for the call, Dugald. It helps to have family support.’

‘It’s the least I can do. Shame about the ceremony. I was looking forward to it and a good spread after. I don’t suppose the venue offered a refund?’

‘No, the cancellation came too late for that. ‘Bye, Dugald.’

The screen faded to black, leaving Emma to contemplate whether “women’s meeting” was a euphemism for something more sinister. Mid-afternoon on a Monday seemed an odd time for a social group to meet, when most women worked full-time, and holding the meeting on a public holiday was even more unusual. If only she’d ventured into the CGI file and searched B for Beaumont, Sonya, instead of focusing solely on the task in hand. That was the problem with dividing her life into segments – essential to maintain mental equilibrium and prevent exposure – especially when so much was at stake. Yet tomorrow, work and personal life would overlap, as her colleagues were bound to inquire about Friday’s partnership ceremony.