Grey Sky Blues_An Inspector Thomas Sullivan Thriller

by K. C. Sivils

  “May I suggest a compromise,” the pup announced, stepping forward. "Officer Sarah is unarmed. I'll gladly surrender my phase pistol. If any con in Graham can get one of the Inspector's weapons away from him, you have much bigger problems than just one stolen sidearm. Catch my drift?"

  I was proud of Josephson. He was learning to bluff and intimidate.

  Boudreaux stepped back again and took a good look at me. All two meters and 120 kilos, complete with nasty facial scar running from my hairline down to my jaw, bisecting my eye on the right side of my face. The man had no idea about my cybernetic eye and hands.

  "I don't know," he mumbled, looking at the other guards for support. Had to be the first time they'd dealt with a refusal by a law officer to hand over his weapon.

  “We don’t have time to deal with this,” I growled. “Detective Josephson, hand over your phase pistol." The pup promptly produced the worthless energy weapon. Sarah swallowed once and looked away, relieved she'd be able to keep her bladed weapons.

  Not the best idea, but I wasn’t going into this place unarmed. Not with a killer who could kill without being present.

  HOW INTERESTING! HE kept his weapons! Oh, I like this one. He’ll be quite the challenge if it comes to it.

  The watcher followed Sullivan and his group as the guard gave them a tour of the ground level minimum-security facility, the yard, and the classroom areas. Sullivan was growing visibly more irritated by the minute, the guard seemingly unaware the Inspector could blow at any moment.

  Entering the second level of Graham, the group made its way towards AdSeg, the Administrative Segregation Unit, where Irina Chekov had been held in solitary protective confinement.

  Sullivan broke the seal on the crime scene and entered by himself. After a minute or so he backed out of the cell and allowed the female resembling Ellie to enter with her bags of equipment. Sullivan spoke to the woman in a voice the auditory sensors could not pick up, frustrating the watcher.

  Without looking back, Sullivan headed for the entrance to AdSeg, the male detective following and the guard, panicked at the sudden separation of the group, looking back and forth trying to decide what to do. Sullivan’s bull like charge towards the elevator and secure lock made the decision for the guard who abandoned the woman officer in the cell.

  “Oh, my, but you’re a smart one Sullivan. Just what are you up to?

  "HE WHAT," CORONA SHOUTED into the comm. "You idiots! You should not have let him enter and contacted me immediately!”

  The warden broke the comm link and immediately opened a link to the assistant warden for women.

  “Gravestone, get over here. We’ve got a loose cannon walking around in our prison.” He paused and listened for a moment. “Don’t threaten me. These murders happened in your facilities. No get over to my office so we can get this under control.”

  Breaking the link before the woman could respond, Corona sat down at his desk. Taking a deep breath and holding it, he calmed himself. "Let him find the killer. Help him find the murderer. Then get him off this moon. That's all you have to do Corona. That's all you have to do."

  The door to his office slid open, and Warden Gravestone stepped in quickly, looking as angry as her superior. "How dare you address me that way?" she snapped as the door closed behind her.

  “How dare you let your guards allow this Inspector Sullivan to defy the regulation against carrying side arms into the prison? Do you have any idea the number of things that could go wrong? Do you?”

  “I see,” Gravestone replied, swallowing hard with the realization of the situation. “I will take care of this immediately.” The two stared at each other with open hatred. Gravestone finally turned and left, leaving Corona in his office to worry alone.

  I LOOKED AROUND IN the secure entrance to the SuperMax. It was basically an airlock. If the con being relocated caused any trouble, sleeping gas would be pumped in. The C.O. transporting the prisoner would be rendered unconscious as well, but that was preferable to letting the con kill the C.O.

  “Josephson, I want you to go over this place. Every single square centimeter. Document everything. Pay particular attention to the retinal scan locking mechanisms.” He nodded and started opening up his bags of equipment without saying a word.

  “I want to meet this Russian. The con called Dmitry.”

  “Sir, that’s not possible.”

  I stepped right up into the guard’s space and glared down in silence. The man stepped back. I moved in a second time.

  “Let’s make this clear for the final time officer. I want to meet this Dmitry. I’m the investigating officer in charge. It’s going to happen. Are we clear?”

  Frightened by his choices, dealing with a large, angry male while trapped in a space intended to confine prisoners or face future repercussions of an unknown variety, he made the only choice he could. He pulled out his comm and sent a link. Huddled over his come the guard whispered into the link then listened.

  “Dmitry has been waiting Inspector.”

  “Good,” I groused, stepping into his space again. “Take me to see him. Now.”

  “But what about...”

  “I think my Sergeant can take care of himself, don’t you?”

  Unused to not having the upper hand in a confrontation in a closed space, the guard hurried to the other end and began the process of opening the door.

  SARAH SAT DOWN ON THE dead con’s bunk. She had photographed everything with the digital camera issued to her by the precinct in Capital City. Scanning through the hundred plus images she'd taken, Sarah was fairly confident she'd done a good job. Each image had one of the orange plastic identifiers in it to allow for easy cataloging.

  Slowly she looked through the pictures, trying to find something in any image that looked out of place. On the second pass through the pictures, Sarah noticed two identical images. She must have pressed the button twice by accident to take the image. Reaching to press the delete button she noticed the images weren’t identical. The first image contained a tiny white light and the second one didn’t.

  Setting the camera down in its case, Sarah stepped up on the bed and ran her fingers along the top of the steel strap the bars were welded to. The cell was a cage within a cage, the outer cage being a concrete room. Her fingers brushed along the edge of what appeared to be a metal box. Standing on her toes, Sarah strained to get a firm grasp on the box. Pulling it upwards carefully, Sarah was rewarded for her efforts when the box easily appeared.

  Tilting it carefully, Sarah turned the box so it would slip through the bars making up the ceiling of the second, interior cell. A small, white light turned on and off. Sarah recognized the device she held in her hands.

  I LOOKED AROUND THE cellblock. The first thing I noticed besides the fact it was empty of cons was it didn't smell like a typical cellblock. The air carried in it the slightest hint of spruce, something evergreen. While still prison grey, the paint wasn't peeling and the lighting worked, giving the place a pleasant enough atmosphere.

  For a prison.

  Then the silence crept up on me, giving me chills. Convicts talk a lot. It fills the void of dead time, makes the days bearable if its possible to do that in prison. Some cons make noise because they like the chaos of sound. Constant noise can drive a man mad. More than one con has lost it because of noise.

  This cellblock was different. It wasn't real. I smiled. Of course, it wasn't real. It was the palace of a King.

  An accented voice called out from behind a partition.

  “Inspector Sullivan?”

  “Dmitry Romanov?”

  From behind the partition stepped the King of the Earth Russian gang. He was older and slightly more stooped than I thought he would be. His hair was neat, cut short and close to his scalp. Patches of dark hair were scattered through the grey and silver hair. He stood naked except for a white towel wrapped around his waist. Sweat covered his body, his skin glowing in shades of pink and red. I read his life story as a convict as told by h
is tattoos. The numerous scars on his body filled in between the lines.

  “Please, I have been waiting for you Inspector. Forgive me. I have just come from a sweat in my sauna. I am only allowed this luxury twice a week.”

  The Russian King smiled as he motioned for me to enter his private cell. “They tell me there are limits to what is permissible for a con, even a con who is King.”

  I entered his cell and scanned it, recording everything with my cybernetic eye to review later. I sat in the worn upholstered chair positioned across from the overstuffed chair Dmitry settled into.

  “May I offer you something to drink? Chilled water? Something a bit stronger?”

  “I’m on duty. I’ll pass.”

  “Good. Good.”

  Sitting in his chair like the King he believed himself to be, the con clasped his hands together in his lap and looked at me, not speaking. I looked back. Minutes passed as we tested each other, taking in everything each of us could about the other.

  Dmitry smiled and laughed. "I like you, Sullivan. You can sit in silence. You are a man who is comfortable with his demons. That or you are smart enough to hide your demons from a potential enemy. Either way, I like you.”

  I motioned at the Russians cell. “Interesting cell you have.”

  “Yes, not many cons live as I do.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, just how corrupt is Warden Corona?”

  He answered with a laugh.

  “He does what is necessary. I live better than he does Inspector.”

  I mulled that over for a bit. Graham had a good record for low rates of inmate violence and few reports of problems with the guards. It made sense.

  “You keep a lid on this place for Corona.”

  “Yes, Inspector. In return, I am allowed to purchase certain privileges as you can see. Others, I earn.”

  “Why are we meeting like this?”

  “Good, good,” Dmitry repeated quickly. “Direct you are. One of the victims was an augmented, one of my people, an Irina Chekov. She made a lot of money for us, and shall I say, other people. Irina was in AdSeg, solitary confinement. I want her killer found and punished.”

  I thought about what Bones had told me. “She was alone in her cell. It looks like suicide.”

  “Please, let’s not kid each other, Inspector,” Dmitry said, a hint of irritation in his eyes. “I will not lie to you so please, do not lie to me.”

  “Convince me she was murdered then.”

  “Irina was short, just a few months to go. She had a kid, a daughter waiting for her on the outside. She would not kill herself.”

  I nodded and sat in silence, thinking, watching.

  “The C.O, Evans.”

  Dmitry shook his head. “For a screw, Evans was alright. He had principles. We tried hard to corrupt him but couldn’t. I admire that. He treated all cons with respect. That is something you don’t find too often in a screw. I want you to know Inspector, if it is one of my own who did this thing...this thing to Evans, I will personally handle the matter. It is bad business, a bad thing what happened.”

  I wasn’t sure I could trust Dmitry and with good reason. He was a con. He was also the King of the Earth Russians. What little I had learned told me his word meant something to him. I felt a sense of genuine anger from Dmitry over the Evans death. It could be because he liked Evans or somebody had acted without his permission. Either way, Dmitry was angry.

  He spoke again in his accented voice. "Tell me, Inspector, what do you think of the Alliance prison system?"

  I thought for a minute. “Too easy for some cons. The victims don’t receive justice. Perhaps too harsh for some.”

  “Da, but I think you are referring more to the justice system, not prison.”

  I shrugged. “What do you think Dmitry?”

  “Earth Russians know how to run prisons, nyet? This place is too soft. Too many opportunities for bad to happen.”

  I grinned. “But plenty of opportunities to make credits.”

  It was Dmitry’s turn to grin.

  “Da, Inspector, da. But what of redemption? Do you think it is possible for a man to be redeemed?”

  His question struck a nerve, a sore point with me.

  “Dmitry, you strike me as being a straight shooter, so I’ll be honest. It’s been my experience that most violent criminals are just plain bad, evil if you want to use that word. So, no, I don't think redemption is really possible. Too many cons just re-offend when they get out. Look at your tattoos, Dmitry. This is your third hitch."

  “Point taken, Inspector. So you do not think it possible for men to change?”

  I didn’t like the way the conversation was headed.

  “You need to talk to my friend, Father Nathan.”

  Dmitry leaned forward, his face hopeful.

  “You are Orthodox?”

  I laughed. “No. The good Father is the Anglican priest for the parish I live in. He is a good man. A man who changed, so I suggest you talk to him. He is here with me, visiting the prison chaplain.”

  “This Father Nathan, he was a bad man, nyet? In his past?”

  “I don’t want to talk about his past. Truth be told, Dmitry, I don't know much about it. I know this, if you harm any of the downtrodden in his parish, he's not above settling things with his fists to protect his flock."

  Dmitry leaned back in his chair, nodding slowly.

  “I wish to meet this Father Nathan before he leaves. He sounds like my kind of a priest.”

  I stood, indicating the meeting was over. "The Father means business, I’ll tell you that much.” I extended my hand. Dmitry took it with a strong, firm grasp and shook it once

  “Anything, Inspector, anything you need. You have my word. This was bad business these murders...bad business. There must be order, even here in prison.”

  I nodded and left. Silence followed me as I made my way down the cellblock towards the waiting guard.

  I didn’t know what to think about my meeting with the Russian King. He was looking for something from me, what it was, I had no idea. I did know, under the right circumstances he would help me catch the killer.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BONES HATED THE SMELL of ozone. Usually. As the odor filled his nostrils, he felt his heart beat faster in relief. The sucking sound of the seal to the airlock breaking and fresh, cold air rushing in covered his arms in goose bumps. He pushed through the others waiting to disembark from the shuttle into the gateway.

  Departing as quickly as he could, Bones avoided the smiling, uniformed spaceport employees waiting to greet the other travelers arriving from the space station above Capital City. He tuned out the various messages broadcast over the spaceport's public address system and hurried toward the exit for the subway. Clinging tightly to his equipment cases, he stopped only once or twice to look around to see if he was followed.

  Bones wished he had Sarah’s ability to hide in plain sight. Even from cameras.

  Descending the subway stairs, Bones hurried to mingle with the crowd waiting for the train to the center of Capital City. Despite the cold air lingering on the platform, Bones could feel sweat from tension and fear running down his spine. A deafening roar filled the station as the train’s brakes squealed bringing the coaches to a stop.

  The waiting crowd parted to allow passengers of the train, making room for more to board. Bones welcomed the crush of people; the need for one to become anonymous in the crowd as the doors closed and the train sped off to the next station.

  Three train changes later Bones was back in his part of the city. With caution, he took the steps up to the street, emerging from the subway into the freezing evening air. Bones was glad for once to see fog rolling in and snow falling as the sun set. With luck, he would be home in minutes and safe behind his strong door. He'd be even safer once he was armed.

  “TELL ME ABOUT GRAHAM,” Father Nathan asked.

  The inmate laughed. “Why? You plan on taking a job here?”

  “Perhaps.
I’m the parish priest for the southeast section of Capital City. The Bishop has asked me to learn about the spiritual needs of those living here in Graham Correctional.”

  The grin vanished from the inmates face. “What’s your real game priest?”

  “Not very trusting are you?”

  “You learn to be that way here.”

  Father Nathan smiled and glanced up, taking note of the position of the camera mounted in the ceiling. He stood and moved his chair, so his back faced the camera. The inmate cast a knowing glance at the priest and shifted his chair to a different angle.

  "I won't ask your name," Father Nathan stated dryly. "That way I can't accidentally volunteer it shall we say."

  A single nod was the convict’s response.

  "I am in fact interested in the spiritual life of the men and women here. But that fact is of no importance unless the residents on this moon know they can trust me. That trust has to be earned."

  Father Nathan cast his glance to the side to stare at the convict. "For me to prove that I need to learn some things."

  “I’m not a rat,” the inmate hissed.

  "I don't want you to snitch. I just need to know what really goes on here."

  “Why? What do you care?”

  A minute passed as the priest thought carefully, choosing his words before responding.

  “There have been two murders here. A guard and a con.”

  “So? That sort of thing happens here. It’s prison.”

  “Not like these two murders. When was the last time an investigative team from Beta Prime was sent up here?”

  This time it was the con’s turn to think before speaking.

  “Never.”

  “Something is going on, something bigger than the deaths of a guard and a con. Somebody on the inside got word out to the right people.”

  “So you’re a cop?”

  "No. I really am a priest. But the Inspector sent up here is my close friend as are all of the members of his team. They will find out who did this and mark my word, Sullivan will find uncover what else is going on."