Dust in the Basement - 6. Friday, February 28, 2025 (I)

Kellen was on time, but the bag he placed on my desk looked more like a food order for a whole family. He unpacked two large to-go coffee mugs, an XXL chocolate muffin and a box with a cinnamon roll, before stacking four large sandwiches on the side. “You never know,” he explained in response to my skeptical look.

“Thank you,” I said simply as he pushed my coffee and the cinnamon roll towards me.

Smiling, he nodded and took a bite of his muffin, only then did he sit down and immediately started talking with his mouth full: “You know what I was thinking yesterday-”

“How about you speak like a civilized person?” I interrupted him directly and he rolled his eyes, but obeyed.

“Do you know what I realized yesterday when I was taking a shit?”

“You need a colonoscopy?” I asked back dryly, sipping my cappuccino. When his lips curved suspiciously, I quickly added: “We're in a hospital here.”

“Uh-huh. No. Screenings in all honor, but I don't need that kind of tube up my ass more often than necessary. I meant the sewage system.”

Pushing aside images of Kellen's bare butt, I raised only a brow because now my own mouth was full.

“It's easier than you think to get into the sewage system.”

“Maybe,” I began, washing crumbs out of my throat with coffee, ”but they wouldn't plan an underground parking garage under the park if there were sewers running through it. You can't just relocate them as you please.”

He pointed at me with the muffin. “Good catch. Nevertheless. There are sewers everywhere and there was already a tunnel from the station. Are there any more? People were and are clever when it comes to getting around restrictions. It would be possible to create a back door in an existing tunnel.”

Chewing, I nodded.

“I've already got the number of the sewage disposal company here. What about the old tunnels from the railroad? I haven't found anything there.”

This time I shook my head. “Whatever's still underground must have become the responsibility of the city. If we can't find anything through the building authority, then through the city archives, and by the time you get to them, you'll be old enough to be archived yourself.”

“Great.” Kellen pulled a pout.

Apologetically, I shrugged. “We're not in a metropolis like New York. The bureaucratic mills grind slowly here.”

Silently and thoughtfully, we finished our sweet breakfast, then he pulled out his phone and called the sewage disposal company.

While he made the call in a cool tone, I read the message I had received during the meal - from Gianna Durham. In cryptic words, they asked for a meeting because “we probably both have answers the other wants”.

“Nine thirty,” Kellen finally announced.

“Hmm.”, I made slowly. “What do you think about going alone? My research is obviously bearing fruit, but I should be at tea by ten.” Because he was looking a bit funny, I held my phone under his nose.

Shrugging he leaned back. “You can look after yourself, so yeah, sure. Better than sitting here twiddling your thumbs waiting for the building authority. Or annoying the Stevensons.”

“Good.” I stifled a thanks.

“And if push comes to shove, I've been in the sewers before.” He grimaced.

“Do I want to know the details?”

“Not really.”

I nodded, fished a water bottle out of a compartment on my desk and took a few sips before rubbing my face.

“Bad night?”

“Hmm... shitty family dreams.” I set the bottle on the edge of the desk where it wouldn't get in the way.

“Your mom?” he asked gently.

“No. My dad. He's... a bit of an asshole.”

“There are different types of asshole,” Kellen noted carefully.

“Yeah...” I nodded and stared at my phone, which I twirled in my fingers. “My little brother has a genetic disorder. He was diagnosed when he was five. He could have started therapy straight away to grow up normally, to develop normally. But our dad said no.”

“What?” asked Kellen, completely dumbfounded. “Why is that?”

“I have no idea,” I said honestly. “But that was the beginning of the end of my parents' marriage. When Quen started to really suffer and my mom explained everything to me, I slowly lost all connection to my dad. And when Quen really understood it, in all its implications, he started to hate him. I can understand, you know.”

“But is he, your brother, I mean, is he...” Kellen made a small gesture towards his head.

“No, it's all physical.” I shook my head weakly, then shrugged. “It's not like Dad ever really did or said anything bad. When I came out, he nodded and said 'you can love whoever you want, but at least one normal son would have been nice'. But by then I didn't care about him at all anymore.”

“You don't call that bad?” Kellen looked at me critically.

I shrugged again. “He's just a career guy who wants a pretty front. But he's never beaten us or any of that shit...”

With a raised eyebrow, Kellen shook his head. “Denies one son life-normalizing therapy and calls the other abnormal. Dust. That passes for psychological violence.”

I looked at my fingers, could only shrug again. “I don't care about him.” Normally, and with anyone else, I would have defended Dad somehow, but I couldn't with Kellen, he would have just slapped the words back in my face. And I probably realized he was right, too. “What about your parents? What did they say?” I asked instead.

The first thing in response was a small laugh. “My mom, that was sweet and very strange at the same time. She said something like 'well, with so many attractive men around, it's understandable'. Then I was always kind of worried that we might like the same guys.”

That made me giggle. “If my mom had said something like that, I think I would have died.” But then my amusement died down because Kellen's little smile immediately melted away.

“My dad... left when I was three. There was only my grandfather and my uncle, but... I didn't want to trust them with something like that.”

“I'm sorry.” I said quietly, but he wiped the remark away.

“That was all a long time ago. It was a different life.” The second sentence was strangely harsh and I nodded silently. No need to dig into old wounds. Then my restlessly wandering eyes fell on the clock on the wall.

“The sewage company's administration is outside the city in the industrial area. You have to leave in a minute.”

He nodded, checked his watch and stood up. If we hadn't just finished such a sensitive topic, I would have bet money on him cracking some kind of joke about his own sewage pipe. But as it was, he left my office without a word, just nodding in greeting.

~

The Flamingo Café was small, modern and yet cozy. The walls were not only decorated with the eponymous flamingos, but also with all the Pride flags, and it smelled sweet and fruity.

Gianna Durham was sitting apart, but still clearly visible, so I spotted them easily and headed for the small table. “Good morning,” I greeted and they stood up to shake my hand.

“Good morning, Cursebreaker. Gianna will do.” Long dark wig, well-groomed beard, subtle eye shadow in the same pale pink as the heavy knitted dress.

“Dust,” I returned and took off my jacket before sitting down. However, before a slightly awkward moment could arise until one of us started the serious conversation properly, a waiter joined us.

“Hi!” He beamed at me. “You're new here right? Well, I'll explain briefly. We don't have coffee, darling, just tea. Black, white, green, fruit, herbal. Whatever you like. We serve cups - I recommend this to try new varieties - or pots, which contain 4 cups. There are recommended cookies with every tea, but of course you can choose what you want. Shall I bring you a menu or do you choose by ear?” The guy was so stereotypically gay that I suddenly felt very straight watching his little routine.

“I'd like a pot of Pretty Bird with matching cookies,” Gianna remarked kind of casually.

“What kind of mild fruit teas are there? I've just had breakfast,” I asked cautiously.

“Oh, so definitely our all-time favorite Pink Flamingo or the Sweet Unicorn. The Unicorn is sweeter.” He winked at me.

“Then I'll start slowly with a cup of Pink Flamingo... without the cookies,” I decided and added for the sake of the joke: ”My unicorn is waiting for me at home.”

The waiter made a cute grimace and purred before walking away.

Gianna giggled. “Danny's a bit overzealous.”

“Oh, I'm part of the club all right, I just sometimes forget how much some people live up to themselves.”

That made Gianna giggle again, but then they became serious. “Percival... do you know an Anne Percival?”

“That was my mom...”

“Oh.” They smiled tensely. “She was a friend of my mom's, a colleague of sorts.”

“Then Britta Durham is your mother?”

“Yes.” That made the convicted Durham part of the family too and I nodded slowly.

We looked at each other silently. I guess we both didn't want to risk being interrupted by the eager Danny at a sensitive moment.

“My mom would have loved your boots,” I said a little stupidly, but Gianna beamed.

“They're fantastic! And super comfortable despite the heel!”

“Baby, I told you they were worth it!” Danny squeaked, putting two small trays on the table. “So, sweetheart, when your timer goes off, tea filters out, sweets in if you like some. And careful, hot!” Giggling, he walked away.

My cup was a dark pink, the handle shaped like a flamingo, Gianna's cup and matching pot were lighter shaded and without the flamingo decoration. The smell of the tea and cookies was divine.

Gianna took a cookie, but instead of taking a bite, they asked: “May I ask what exactly is going on? I mean, I've heard about the age-changing magic thing, of course, a friend's grandparents are affected.”

I nodded slowly. “That kind of magic shouldn't exist. Well, I mean, theoretically it doesn't exist. That's what makes it so tricky, so complicated. Was it an accident? An experiment gone wrong? The test of an experiment? A trial run for an act of terrorism?”

Chewing and somehow fascinated, Gianna nodded.

“An anonymous group was mentioned in passing. There are hundreds of them, I know, but-”

“- the context and circumstances make it suspicious.”

I nodded. “The name Durham came up as the leader of the group. Something rang a bell. For one thing, your father's case, and for another, my cousin was working on the clown murder investigation and told me about your movie. You could have founded an anonymous group here for queers or for relatives of prisoners...” I shrugged cautiously, but with a surprisingly bitter face, Gianna shook the head and tidied the strands from their wig before they spoke.

“I'm afraid I have to go back a bit. So.” They pointed to themselves. “Of course Gianna isn't my birth name, that's Robert. Like my father and his father and his father and so on. It's always caused problems and my mother has said often enough they should have at least given me a middle name to make it easier to distinguish. Oh well. Accordingly, I'm used to grief when it comes to mix-ups, wrong letter deliveries etc.”

I absently dunked the tea filter around in my cup and nodded.

“When my father was arrested, it was the last straw for me to officially change my name - I still got enough hate in his place, thank you. At the beginning of last year, I suddenly got mail from Helena and a lot of things didn't add up. But, being used to grief, I set about clearing up the misunderstanding. But it was like a snowball turning into an avalanche and then it dawned on me that someone must have stolen my identity - my old identity.”

“Damn it,” I blurted out. Some kind of aunt had had her identity stolen, but it had only come out after she'd died. Ugly story.

Gianna nodded bitterly. “Detective DeLaney is on the case, I have a lawyer who has experience with it. But you need a lot of patience with these things, I've been told...”

That reminded me of my conversation with Thompson yesterday, and even though it was kind of inappropriate, I asked, “Stupid interjection, but can you recommend the lawyer?”

Gianna blinked, fittingly puzzled. “Yes. He's young and that may seem like a deterrent due to lack of general experience, but he's very nice and dedicated. Nathan Upfield.”

“Oh. One of the Upfields?” I asked, surprised. I hadn't known there were any offspring, at least not here in Quincefield.

“I guess so...”

“Thanks.” I made a mental note and winced as the tea timer beeped.

“You know, the thing is, after my grandfather died six years ago, his younger son - my uncle - left with his wife and kids. Carolina, I can't remember whether North or South. And now my parents and I are the only Durhams in all of Montana.”

“Plus a fake Durham...”

“Plus a fake Durham.” Gianna nodded. “Through the misdirected mail, we have several business addresses, in West Yellowstone and Billings among others, but there's no real registration address. He's listed at a homeless center where homeless people can get mail sent to them if they need an address, but there's nothing you can actually find him with.”

I nodded slowly and stirred a little brown sugar into my tea. “So he could be living anywhere as himself and operating under a false identity at the same time. Even here.”

“And even if he has nothing to do with your magical incident-”

“- it's more than suspicious to make yourself the leader of a group with a false name,” I finished the sentence and nodded. “I'll discuss it with Detective DeLaney.” At the last moment, I remembered that I hadn't even touched my tea yet and that it would be absolutely rude to leave it standing. So I tried to make small talk.

~

“Vee? I got news.”

“News in what sense?” she wanted to know and downright sighed the words, dreading bad ones.

“In any case, it should be interesting for one of your investigations. But I don't want to say everything twice. I'll come to you.”

“What about your SI?”

“I'll call him now.”

“Ah.”

I hung up and called Kellen instead. “Hey, I got-”

“Gaaaaaaaaawwwd! My ears are falling off, this guy has been talking at me for hours about everything that had nothing to do with my actual question!” Kellen yowled outright.

“Poor Boo-Boo,” I scoffed. “Was it worth it?”

“Not really,” he grumbled. “And your tea?”

“Maybe. It'll help Vee. Us? We'll see. Come to the QFPD, will you?”

“You're on a nickname basis with the detective?”

Rolling my eyes, I pulled the car keys out of my jacket pocket. “I already have an extremely annoying cousin named Violet. And everyone calls me Dust.”

“Hmm. Where did that even come from?”

“From my brother.” I slipped into the Rover, closed the door and enjoyed the lack of wind. “He couldn't pronounce my name, first said Dus and later Dust, eventually everyone else picked it up. His name is Quentin and he thought the -tin at the end of both our names was part of our surname. The older children in the family then renamed him Tintin.”

“Tintin? That's sort of cute.” Kellen laughed softly.

“If you tell him that, he'll punch you,” I warned.

“Let him try.” Kellen was still amused.

I preferred not to respond. I had no doubt Quen would really do it, but I didn't want to imagine Kellen's reaction as clearly. A fight between the two of them wasn't something I particularly needed.

“See you in a minute,” I said instead, putting the ignition key in the car. And then I pretended not to hear Kellen's cheerful “drive safe”.