A Subtle Agency

by Graeme Rodaughan

  Luke looked into the hallway where O’Reilly had just completed taking photographs of footprints in the plaster dust. There were two sets, about size thirteen or fourteen, similar to his own.

  He tilted his head, his mind integrating what he saw in the patterns in the pale powder.

  There was a fight here, in this hallway, two big men duking it out like the old west.

  Instinctively looking up, he saw it, blood splatter high up on the wall.

  Someone got hit hard.

  ‘Kelly, get a blood swab and bag this. O’Reilly, get this on camera,’ he said as he drew his Detectives’ attention to the top of the wall. As Kelly swabbed blood and bone fragments, putting them into a vial, Luke turned his attention back to the corpse in the chair.

  Sarah Murphy, the head of the CSRU attending the crime scene was kneeling beside the body, collecting clumps of blond hair from the carpet with a brush and bagging it in labeled evidence bags.

  ‘Anything?’ Luke asked as he came over, standing opposite Sarah, the corpse between them.

  ‘It’s interesting,’ Sarah remarked, ‘it looks like she was beheaded with a single blow with a very sharp instrument.’

  Luke was relieved, as an image of a Jihadi sawing at Anna Smith’s neck with a knife faded away.

  ‘However, there are some very odd things,’ Sarah continued, frowning, ‘there is her hair all over the floor, it was sliced off at the same time as her head, indicating that she was killed here. However, there is very little blood splatter. Her blood should be everywhere - where is it?’

  Luke stroked his chin.

  Is this staged?

  ‘Could she have been killed somewhere else, and the body placed here?’

  ‘It’s possible, in that case, I may find foreign material from the original site mixed in with the hair, but the hair looks clean - there is almost no blood on it or any other matter.’

  Luke looked at the hair in the bags and on the floor, so neatly cut - it seemed a problem.

  ‘Wouldn’t her hair just get pushed out of the way by a blade?’

  Sarah nodded, ‘normally I would say yes, however with a very sharp blade, moving very fast, the hair doesn’t have time to get out of the way.’

  ‘What sort of weapon?’

  ‘Probably a big knife or a sword, but nothing has been found yet. It is possible that the murder weapon has been taken from the crime scene.’

  Sarah used a stainless steel probe to indicate the still intact top of a vertebra at the rear of the wound, ‘and given that the cut appears to have neatly separated the C4 and C5 vertebrae, the weapon was wielded by an expert. The chances of inflicting this wound by accident would be astronomical.’

  ‘So you’re telling me that the victim was sitting in this chair when the perp, an expert swordsman, cut her head off with a single blow, and there is almost no blood here. I’m leaning to the idea that she was drained of blood somewhere else and the body staged here.’

  Sarah nodded slowly, ‘perhaps something like that. Her blood must be somewhere. Once we get her back to the forensics lab, we will be able to tell more about how this happened.’

  Luke pointed to a large blood stain on the right shoulder and an obvious cut in her dress there, ‘what’s that - another wound?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sarah said, ‘looks like it went straight through the shoulder joint, cracking open the bones and severing the Thoracoacromial Artery. The pain would have been extreme - like having your arm ripped off - and given the blood around the cut, it happened before she died.’

  ‘Torture?’

  ‘Motives are for you to answer?’

  ‘I respect your professional opinion on this.’

  ‘... Yes, both cuts are surgical in their precision - whomever did this knew exactly what they were doing - and they did it fast, a single strike each time.’

  ‘Any idea on time of death?’

  ‘I would estimate four to six hours ago. I can be more exact once we get her to the lab.’

  Luke looked at his watch, ‘an EMT team will be here in about fifteen minutes to transport the body, it’s already been cleared with the Medical Examiner’s office.’

  ‘Good, we will be ready by then.’

  Luke saw a family photo on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. They were a good looking family, happy, proud parents, at their son’s graduation from High School. There was no mistaking that the body in the lounge room belonged to Anna Smith. He took the photo out of the frame, flipping it over, there was a message written on the back. “Anton’s Graduation.”

  Dated last year. A proud and happy family - they look perfectly normal and well adjusted - so what happened?

  He bagged the photo and walked to the front door of the house, collecting his two Detectives as he went.

  ‘Kelly, O’Reilly, start taking statements from the neighbors, see if anyone knows anything. Hopefully, someone heard or saw something useful.’

  Luke stood on the front porch of the house as his Detectives moved beyond the police line and started identifying neighbors. He lifted the photo, staring at it intently, committing it to memory. He had been briefed over the radio as he had driven to the scene. The boy had called 911 from a payphone at South Station just before 01:00. A couple of hours after the death of his mother, that gave him plenty of time to concoct a cover story.

  His father is missing; the boy is on the run - who had a motive to murder Anna Smith?

  He had reported a pair of assailants; Luke had checked the names, there was any number of Chloe Armitages, and Marcus Drakes in the world, but none known for being criminals on the Boston Police Department databases. Luke knew that he had to find Anton Smith.

  You’re either the perpetrator or the primary witness. You’re running - but who are you running from?

  He felt a tap on his shoulder.

  ‘You need to see this,’ Sarah said in hushed tones.

  Trembling momentarily, she turned back into the house.

  Luke pocketed the Smith family photo, following her back into the lounge room.

  The other two CSRU staff were still at the crime scene, standing back from the body, staring at the head on the floor.

  They were both young; the woman looked like she was about to cry and the man had his hand over his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but was frightened to say it.

  Sarah squatted down, using her probe to lift a sheath of hair away from Anna’s cheek, ‘look here, at the top of her throat - puncture marks.’

  Luke frowned, crouching down on one knee to examine Anna Smith’s head.

  There was a strange combination of puncture wounds; partially healed with faded scar tissue on her throat.

  ‘A dog bite?’ He asked, ‘looks like it’s a week old at least.’

  ‘I don’t know, but I doubt it - it’s too controlled - there is only the one bite that we can see. A dog attack would leave bite wounds all over her body. But look at this,’ Sarah said as she inserted one end of her forensic probe into the largest of the puncture wounds; the probe descended in about half an inch. ‘The bite would have severed the carotid artery - it should have killed her - but you can see that the wound is partially healed and the artery itself has closed over. It’s bizarre.’

  Luke felt a shiver go up his spine and rubbed his chin with his hand, ‘that’s impossible.’

  ‘Not only that - I double checked the shoulder wound, and the Thoracoacromial Artery had also closed over and the entry and exit wounds were partially healed.’

  The young CSRU tech spoke in a harsh whisper, his hands on his head, ‘it was a vampire.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Luke growled, ‘this is the real world, not a damn TV show. There will be a rational explanation for this.’

  This has been staged. What sort of monster is Anton Smith?

  Stepping away from the body, he suddenly needed fresh air, he went back out on the porch. He dialed the duty desk at the district office. The officer on duty picked up the call.

  ‘
Initiate an arrest warrant for Anton Smith. I want him found, he is our prime suspect for the murder of his mother and the disappearance of his father.’

  Luke frowned, shaking his head. A son murdering his mother, it was disgusting, he vowed to himself to close this case. Finding justice for the dead, it was what drove him, and he would not stop until Anton Smith had paid for his crime.

  * * *

  James slowed the car to a crawl as he approached the entrance of the court where the Smith residence was located.

  The red and blue strobe lights of a pair of Boston Police Department cars lit up the court entrance. A big white Crime Scene Response Unit van was parked on the far side of the police cars. A navy blue, Ford Explorer SUV, typical of the type used by the Boston Police Department was beyond the CSRU van. “Do Not Cross” police tape had been strung on stands on the sidewalk and around the front yard of the Smith residence. All around the court, neighbors, and other onlookers huddled in small groups. Several people were using their smartphones to video the event or take photographs. Four uniformed officers were keeping everyone clear of operations as a pair of Detectives were taking initial statements from neighbors.

  Interviewing of potential witnesses has already begun.

  Disgusted, James growled, ‘what a circus, this is so FUBAR, who tipped them off?’

  A tall, bald man with an air of command about him, was on the front porch staring at something in an evidence bag.

  Is that a photo?

  One of the CSRU staff tapped the Detective on the shoulder and he turned and followed her back into the house.

  The Investigator-In-Charge and a member of the CSRU.

  ‘What did they just find? I need to shut this down and fast.’

  He switched off his car’s engine, flipping open his laptop and logged in. The laptop networked back to the Panopticon with high speed encrypted satellite links. He lifted his smartphone, zooming in with the phone’s camera on the police vehicles, associated staff, and onlookers. The phone began networking directly with the Panopticon.

  ‘Okay, who am I dealing with here?’

  Two minutes later he had summarized files on all the police staff currently on site, and who they reported too.

  ‘Sergeant Detective Luke Watts is the Investigator-In-Charge with responsibility for the disposition of the crime scene and the evidence. He is responsive to the District Attorney or the Medical Examiner.’

  He fell silent, tapping the side of the laptop as he read deeper into the files, scanning and reading pages at a glance.

  ‘I need to be a delegate of the DA.’

  James put his laptop aside, opening his car’s glove box, he withdrew a small black box from within it.

  He released the biometric lock on the box with his thumbprint, inside was a set of IDs. All with fake names, roles, and authorities; they all matched his biometrics and were backed by fully defined sets of data across more than a dozen government and private systems. These “ghosts” even drew salaries from their host organizations. He flicked through them, picking out the most appropriate one for dealing with this situation.

  James, aka Jim, Alexander, an FBI agent from the Manhattan Joint Terrorism Task Force Annex; a Shadowstone front organization seamlessly integrated with the real FBI.

  Now for the paperwork.

  James ran another program on his laptop, and a minute later he had a filled form, signed by the Suffolk County District Attorney assigning Jim Alexander as his delegate for the Smith case. He hit Ctrl-P on his laptop, a printer built into the car’s console under the glove box whirred into life, pushing out a high definition, full color copy of the signed delegation form.

  James carefully and neatly folded the form, putting it aside, just as a Boston Emergency Medical Services Ambulance passed his car, entered the court and parked in the driveway of the Smith residence. He watched, shaking his head as two EM technicians got out of the Ambulance.

  Where in the hell is Green-4?

  He looked at his watch, it was pushing 03:00, Louise Wesson should be here any minute. He dialed her smartphone.

  ‘Sir?’ She answered.

  ‘Where are you?’ James hissed.

  ‘Two minutes away from your location. We’re in Jamaica Plain now.’

  ‘OK. Slow down just as you reach the court, I’m parked here and I will lead us in. Once in, wait for further orders.’

  ‘Yes, Sir. Will do.’

  James hung up and started his engine, in moments, he could see two black Chevrolet Express vans in his car’s mirrors. He rolled forward into the street, swerving into formation in front of them. As a group, they drove into the court, parking opposite the Smith residence. James slotted the DA delegation form into an inside pocket of his jacket, got out of his car and walked to the edge of the police line.

  One of BPD uniforms approached him, ‘Sir, this is an active crime scene, and you’re not allowed access.’

  James flashed his FBI credentials, ‘I’m with the FBI JTTF out of the Manhattan Annex, who is the investigator in charge on site.’

  The officer hesitated for a moment, and then produced a list on a clipboard, ‘I will need your details.’

  ‘No problem,’ James said, as he added the name Jim Alexander, and his FBI ID details to the list.

  The officer waved James through and said, ‘he’s Sergeant Detective Luke Watts, you can’t miss him, he’s the big, bald guy in a suit.’

  ‘Thanks, Officer Jones,’ James smiled and walked past.

  Be polite. Get the names right. Do it by the book. Don’t be a bastard. Works every time.

  James walked up the porch steps to the open front door, reaching the landing as Luke Watts emerged, followed by a grim looking EM tech.

  Luke looked James up and down, ‘who are you, and what are you doing on my crime scene?’

  James handed Luke the DA delegation form, ‘I’m Special Agent Jim Alexander with the FBI JTTF out of the Manhattan Annex.’

  Luke opened the form and read it, shaking his head as he quickly got to the end of it.

  ‘Well doesn’t that just take the cake,’ he scowled.

  The EM tech looked at Luke, and then James, and then back at Luke, ‘should I get the body bag?’

  James said, ‘no, go get your buddy and sit in your ambulance. One of my staff will debrief you and then you can go.’

  Luke said, ‘I don’t see how this is a terrorism case.’

  James ignored the question, signaling Louise with a wave of his hand to come over, ‘look, it’s nothing personal. There are bigger forces at play in this case. You’re a good cop, I can see that. Everything has been done by the book and I bet that you’re already putting a case together.’

  He clapped a big hand on Luke’s shoulder; the two men stood eye to eye, ‘we’re brothers in arms, fighting the same fight. I’ve already been briefed on this. You’ve got a runner, the son, Anton Smith ... he’s the prime suspect isn’t he?’

  Luke snorted, ‘I’ve initiated an arrest warrant. We are already closing in on him.’

  That will have to be rescinded.

  ‘I’m sure you are. It’s time to call your team together. My staff will debrief everyone and collect all bagged evidence, in fifteen minutes, the handover will be complete.’

  ‘You can’t hand over a crime scene in fifteen minutes!’ Luke said, aghast.

  ‘My team is highly professional; we will get it done.’

  James glanced out at the court, Louise Wesson and another eight plainclothes Shadowstone operatives were standing in a loose group back from the police line. They were not signing themselves in as per standing orders. They did not have multiple prepared identities. They were waiting for him to clear the path for them.

  ‘Look, Sergeant Detective Watts, I need you to immediately remove your team from this site. It is imperative that all evidence is immediately handed over to my team.’

  Luke shook his head, looked disgusted but turned and yelled into the house, ‘close it down ever
yone, the FBI is here and they have jurisdiction over this case.’

  In five minutes, the house had been evacuated, and the BPD staff were being debriefed by the Shadowstone operatives who were collecting the evidence bags, taking notes and recording statements on video.

  James went back to his car, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit up, taking a long pull on the cigarette as he watched Louise Wesson lead the debriefs.

  It isn’t what they know, it’s what they can prove that matters. There’s often something strange in these cleanup cases.

  He took another pull on the cigarette. It had been a long night, and he enjoyed a few minutes of peace and relaxation.

  What would it be this time?

  He finished a second cigarette as he waited for the last of the BPD staff to leave the site. He watched as his operators moved in, clearing the onlookers back to their homes.

  Nothing to see here, move along, go back to your homes.

  It was the same consistent message that was used every time. The Green-4 team operatives repositioned the vans and started pulling out their specialized equipment. He butted out the cigarette, putting it carefully into the car’s ashtray - no evidence would be left behind.

  We are ghosts in what we do.

  James pushed off from the car, walking through his team, clapping people on the shoulders, and checking equipment on backpacks.

  ‘Okay guys, let’s be careful, let’s be thorough. Make it a good job, a clean job, and get it done.’

  Once he was convinced that they were fully prepared, he led them into the house.

  * * *

  Louise Wesson, Shadowstone operative, recently recruited from a very specialized cell within the Operations Directorate of the CIA took personal responsibility for managing the removal of Anna Smith’s body.

  Around her was a hive of well-organized activity as Green-4 operatives first sprayed a clear, odorless mist and then followed with flashes of intense ultraviolet light. The treatments evaporated any biological evidence remaining in the house. When they were finished, there would be no trace that the Smith family had ever lived there.