by S L Shelton
“Yeah,” John muttered with a grimace. “We get that a lot.”
“Detective Burns is in charge, but he’s gone for the night. Detective Lee is over there. She’ll be able to help you,” the sergeant said.
He called her over.
“Hi. I’m Detective Sergeant Lee,” she said, reaching her hand out—but not to shake. She wanted to see our IDs as well.
After handing them to her, she flipped them both open before carefully scrutinizing the IDs.
“How can I help you?” she asked as he flipped them closed again and handed them back.
“Well, you could point me to your bathroom first. Then I’d like to talk to you about the Gaines Burton murder,” John sniffed.
“Bathroom’s that way,” she pointed with a tug of agitation at the corner of her mouth. “When you’re done, you can find me in that conference room over there.”
“Thanks,” he replied dismissively as we walked toward the restrooms. When we were out of earshot, he leaned over toward me.
“They will be expecting us to be dicks,” he said in a whisper. “Local cops always hate when the feds come in and start marking trees in their territory.”
I nodded.
“They’ll be expecting it, especially if the FBI has already been here,” he continued. “We are going to flank ‘em with kindness. The best way to get cops to cooperate is to make them think they wronged you by prejudging—thus the shitty first impression.”
I lifted my eyebrows, surprised by the seemingly simple observation.
“Yeah,” he continued. “Cops are cynical as shit…having to face the real world does that to you. But deep down, most of them are in it because they wanted to serve.”
“I’ll remember that next time I get pulled over,” I replied.
“Sorry,” he said with a grin. “It only works for federal agents.”
We stopped at the coffee machine on the way back through the office and poured a couple of cups. John sipped his before making a face. He shook his head as he reached for a salt shaker, and then added a dash of salt to the concoction.
He sipped again. “Mmmm. Better.”
When we entered the conference room, there was a large whiteboard by the wall with photos and labels all over it. I quickly memorized each item as Detective Lee and John started the briefing.
“Not that it matters, but why is the ATF here again?” she asked.
John walked over to her and set his coffee down on the conference table. “To be honest, I think someone is just covering all their bases. I’m not sure we need to be here,” he said, feigning more exhaustion than he felt—at least more than he had displayed on the way over.
She was clearly disarmed by John’s frankness.
“I’m assuming the FBI has already been in here shuffling through everything,” he continued.
“Yeah. They left a little while ago to check in at the Best Western,” she replied with a mild, almost imperceptible sneer. I guessed it had not been a pleasant visit for her. “They left contact info on the board if you want to call them. Agent Barnes and Special Agent Carter.”
John wrinkled his face. “I may touch base with them tomorrow,” he replied hesitantly, and then lowered his voice a bit. “To be honest, I’d rather not deal with FBI any more than I have to. They can be real pricks sometimes.”
Judging by the smile on Detective Lee’s face, I’d say John had just won her over. “So what’ve you got cooking over here?” he asked.
“Photos from the crime scene and an estimated timeline,” she offered, her defenses down.
Good work, John!
“How did the scene shake out with CSI?” John asked, again making brownie points asking for her opinion rather than just taking the reports from her.
“It was an all-you-could-eat buffet,” she said. “I guess the perps figured the fire would cover everything. We got fibers, skin, blood, semen…we could have a CODIS hit anytime now. It did take us a while to get in because of the fire, but they were on the first floor. The debris covered them and protected most of the DNA evidence.”
My internal flow chart popped up the definition for me:
CODIS: Combined DNA Index System. A centralized system run by the FBI to collect DNA data from Federal, State, and Local jurisdictions that have participating forensic laboratories. CODIS records 13 DNA markers plus Amelogenin (AMEL) to determine gender. The Thirteen markers are CSF1PO, D3S1358, D5S818, D7S820, D8S1179, D13S317, D16S539, D18S51, D21S11, FGA, THO1, TPOX, vWA.
I let the information stream, trying not to let the blank stare be too obvious to John and Detective Lee. When my brain then tried inserting a visual model of a DNA strand, pointing out the marker locations, I breathed a deep sigh.
Enough, I thought, bringing the presentation to an end.
“What about the 911 call?” John asked, though I suspected he already knew the answer to that.
“That was a weird one,” she said with some agitation. “We got nothing but garbled digital clutter from that call and the number turned out to be false. One or the other wouldn’t have raised too many eyebrows, but untraceable number and a corrupt recording… That’s peculiar.”
“Indeed,” John agreed. “What would cause a corrupted recording?”
“You got me,” she responded, shrugging. “Bad recording, a corrupt spot on the drive, high-tech defeat device, space aliens…it could be anything.”
“Hmmm,” John muttered, nodding, a perplexed look on his face. “What about video?”
“Yeah. Two. Over here,” she said, leading him to a computer.
She pulled up video files from a folder on the desktop and began playing them.
“These are from a convenience store across the street from Heather Burton’s place of work,” she said. “They show two people coming into the frame as she gets to her car, but the video craps out right before we can make them out.”
John scrolled the video out fast and got to the end long before morning. “Why does the video stop there?” he asked.
“Someone—a fed, according to the store clerk—came in and examined the video this afternoon. Somehow, he managed to turn off the security system and wipe the recording in the process. The store didn’t find out about it until the state troopers showed up,” she said. “The FBI said they didn’t know anything about it—though I’m not sure I believe them.”
Feds don’t wipe surveillance video…even by accident, I thought.
I looked at John with a questioning stare; he discretely shook his head.
Detective Lee noted the awkward silence and looked up at John. “You two didn’t go to that store did you?”
John smiled and put his hands up. “Wasn’t us. We just got here an hour ago.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Okay. Just checking.”
“You said there were two videos,” I said, jumping in.
She looked at me and smiled. “I forgot you were back there.”
“He’s the boss. I’m just here to get coffee when he needs it,” I deflected, grinning.
“Don’t you believe it,” John beamed. “That boy has one of the best investigative minds I’ve ever seen.”
The sincerity in his voice made me blush. Detective Lee noticed it and chuckled.
“Cute too,” she said, amused by my response.
I diverted my attention back to the computer. “The other video?”
“Yep,” she snapped, getting back to the task at hand. “The ATM across the street from the store. Didn’t get much because the angle was wrong. The store video was our only real hope of catching them on camera.”
“Can I get copies of both?” I asked.
“Sure. Got a memory stick or something? I can dump it from here,” she said.
I reached into my pocket and felt around for the right one… I had two in there; a blank one and a special one. I handed her the thumb drive and she inserted it to begin the download. When it was complete, she handed it back to me.
“Do you
have someplace I can set up my system and plug into the Internet?” I asked.
I got a strange look from John. He wasn’t sure what I was doing, and I’m pretty sure he wanted to get out of here.
“Sure, but you could review it right here if you want,” she offered, pointing at her computer.
“I’ve got forensic video software on my system,” I explained. “I just need to plug into a network jack to interface with the ATF server.”
“Okay. No problem. You can set up in Burns’ office,” she offered. “Just don’t touch his baseball stuff. He gets bitchy about that.”
“That would be perfect. Thanks,” I said as I followed her to the office.
I glanced at John as he raised his eyebrow and grinned. He seemed pleased with the level of cooperation—or the swing of her ass—I couldn’t tell which. I was happy about a high-speed Internet connection and a whack at the station server.
I set up my laptop and plugged it into the network outlet on the wall. The files from the thumb drive were loaded in a matter of seconds, and I began streaming the ATM video through my player. I spooled it up to just before the time marker that the convenience store video went dark and stopped it on the telltale frame.
There, in front of the store was a black Crown Victoria. A man in a black suit, similar to mine and John’s was going into the store. A few minutes later, he appeared again—I was able to get a shot of his face. I pushed the still through an enhancement filter and zoomed in.
“John,” I called in a low voice.
He came into the office and walked around behind me. He looked at the photo and put his hand on my shoulder.
“That’s our boy,” he whispered.
I zoomed out and then refocused on the license plate, memorizing it.
“That won’t do us any good, I promise you. But now we know what he was driving,” he said and then his body language shifted to discomfort. “Damn, I wish they didn’t have this.”
I looked up at him and smiled. “Really?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he mused absently, staring at the photo.
I pulled up a command prompt and tickled the Trojan that Detective Lee had installed on her computer when she inserted my thumb drive—the one I keep handy just in case. After a few keystrokes and a bracketed hex key push on an erase parameter, the footage containing Mark Gaines was erased—but only those frames. Since the ATM camera only activates with use, no one would ever miss one or two transactions unless they audited the ATM log.
“Done,” I announced.
“What?”
“I’ll explain later,” I replied as I packed up my laptop.
“The FBI will have a copy as well,” he whispered.
“Not if they use the station network for Internet access tomorrow,” I responded with a smile.
“Criminal. I’m working with a criminal,” he said, smiling, shaking his head.
“Thanks for your help, Detective Lee,” John said warmly as we left the office and walked past the conference room. “We’ll be around if anything new pops up.”
“Don’t you want to hang around a bit?” she responded with disappointment in her voice—apparently John’s tactic had worked very well on her. “We should have a response from CODIS soon.”
The FBI guys would have a hard act to follow tomorrow.
“I’d love to, but it’s past the youngster’s bed time, and we have a lot of ground to cover in the morning,” he explained. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to wear out our welcome.”
She smiled and nodded, reaching out to shake our hands. “If anything comes up, I’ll call,” she said.
We thanked her and left the station.
As soon as we were in the SUV, John looked at me as he started the engine. “What did you do to their system?”
“The thumb drive Detective Lee put into her computer had a Trojan on it,” I replied. “As soon as I logged into their network, I activated it, and it infected the network server.”
“What if their virus scanners pick it up?”
“Pah-lease,” I scoffed. “It’s a part of their operating system. It removes log entries as it sends data and will self-destruct in two days, deleting all traces of itself unless I send a refresh command.”
John laughed. “What about all that self-righteous talk about government intrusions on privacy?”
“This is a police system, not a private citizen. Besides, I’m not with the government,” I replied.
“—yet,” he muttered with a grin as we drove to our hotel.
**
12:45 a.m.—Residence at 38547 C and S Road in Colorado Springs, Colorado
MARK GAINES stood in front of three men who were laying prone in a cluttered garage—his sister’s murderers.
He had driven to the remote address only an hour earlier and found the men busily burning clothes and other items in a barrel behind the garage. As soon as he had established that no one was in the house, it had only taken a few seconds to disarm the surprised group and render them unconscious. They were unable to land a single punch on him despite their best efforts.
The men were securely wired face down on wooden pallets. Gaines had placed the pallets on cinder blocks to elevate them several inches, wanting to look into the men’s faces as he interrogated them. All were still unconscious. He went around the shop, collecting the items he would need, and then pulled a chair in front of the three to wait for them to regain consciousness.
When the first one awoke, his yells and curses brought the others out of their blackness as well.
“You motherfucker. I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you,” the oldest man in the group snarled.
You must be Roy, Gaines thought to himself, and then laughed.
“Sorry…do you want me to untie you and let you try again?” he taunted softly, smiling as if these were old pals he was playing a game with.
“Fuck you!” another screamed, and they all began squirming against their bonds to no avail.
“Go ahead,” Gaines said, leaning back. “Get it out of your system. We’ve got a long night ahead of us, and it’s better if you just work all that nervous energy out now.”
He let them fight for a few moments longer until the wire cut into their wrists and ankles. Once the skin was peeling from the older man’s wrists, Gaines walked over and stood in front of him.
The man spat at Gaines. The angle of his head prevented the spittle from even getting close, but Gaines rewarded him with a solid punch to the side of his face anyway.
“Why are you doing this?” the youngest man protested. “We ain’t done nothin’ to you.”
Gaines moved over to stand in front of him. “I’m sure if you think about your activities over the past several hours you can figure out exactly what you did to deserve this,” he said, squatting down in front of the boy. He was no more than nineteen or twenty.
“They made me do it,” he whined pleadingly. “I said we shouldn’t kill ’em. That was Roy!”
“Fuck you, Billy. You just as guilty as we are,” the older man yelled.
Gaines moved back to the older man. “Roy, huh? You the father of these two?”
“Fuck you. I wouldn’t claim ’em if they was mine. But ain't nobody tried to kill no one,” he pleaded, changing the tone of his voice mid-sentence. “We was just tryin’ to scare ’em into leaving town. They was pissin’ off a bunch of people with their prancin’ around with that test tube baby of theirs. All superior and shit like they belonged here with decent folk.”
“Decent folk?” Gaines replied in mock amusement. “And do decent folk break into houses, beat, rape, and shoot women…and then burn them down with their children?”
A look of disbelief went across all their faces. It was almost as if this man had been in the house with them last night. They’d had no idea he had heard every detail of their crime.
Gaines didn’t wait for them to answer. “Okay! Let’s get this business over with,” he said with conviction. “Uncle Sam taught me to first disar
m my adversary. Primary weapon first.” He moved around behind the men. “And since you clearly can’t fight a real opponent, your primary weapon is used against helpless women. So that has to go first.”
He took out a knife and sliced the back of the first man’s jeans, cutting right through his leather belt, pants, and underwear.
“Wait!” the man screamed. “You’re a cop. You can’t do this. You have to arrest us.”
Gaines laughed. “I’ve never been a cop,” he confided. “I did, however, work for the government. I did their dirty work for many, many years…lots of on-the-job training for operations like this. Though I must say…I’ve gotten more resistance from a house full of crack whores in Thailand than I have from you guys. Almost takes the fun out of it.”
The men all started struggling again. The cursing reached a crescendo as Gaines grasped the first man by his fear-shriveled penis and scrotum, pulling it backward and up so that he could wrap the wire around the base at the narrowest point. He didn’t want them bleeding out until he was done with them.
He slipped the blade underneath the offending package and with one swift motion severed it from the man's body. A high-pitched scream emanated from the man followed by silence as he passed back into unconsciousness.
He brought the handful of bloody meat around and set it on the ground in front of the man, letting the other two fully comprehend what was about to happen to them, sending them pulling against their bonds again.
“No. No! Jesus, God, please don’t, don’t do it,” Roy cried out, tears and slobber running down his face. “Please God, don’t do it.”
He walked around behind the next man, the one who appeared to be nineteen or so, and repeated the same actions on him, slipping the knife under his belt, jeans, and underwear and then wiring his distended scrotum and penis at the base.
“Please man! I didn’t rape no one. I just stood watch!” he pleaded.
“‘Leave some for me, Roy,’” Gaines mocked, repeating the man's words from the night before. “‘Don’t I get a turn?’” Then he sliced through the boy’s flesh. His scream was shorter than the other man’s before he passed out.
Gaines went to Roy, the oldest one of the group. “I’ve got a family, man. I’ve got wife and kids,” he pleaded. “Don’t take my manhood. Please, man. I’ll sell everything I own to make up for what we did. Please don’t.”