JUSTICE REBORN (A Charlie Taylor Novel Book 1)

by Ivan Bering

  Their weekly reviews had to walk a fine line between ensuring important issues were vetted by the Board before the public was informed and still not get swamped by operational details. Stephen was one of the first Sector Judges to be appointed. At 55, the youngest appointment, his tenure would still only be 10 years, the standard term established for all Sector Judges.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if we are ready I will activate the recording equipment.” Every session was recorded and the Judge (via Ann) controlled the electronic panel. “I’d like to start with the Legal Division. Doug, please.”

  “This is Doug Brewster, Legal Division, on Monday, March 29, 2021, reporting.” Doug was medium height, slightly overweight, sporting a full auburn beard, and regularly had a mouth full of pipe, which he chewed relentlessly, particularly when under stress. He could develop a cogent legal argument but at times was viewed as a disingenuous team member. An ambitious man, he had been surprised and disappointed when he had not landed a Judge’s position on the first round of Sector appointments.

  “As soon as death row has been emptied, we’ll be left with the rest of the convicts. It would be easy if we could just open the gates and start all over but, of course, that’s not going to happen. We’re still debating the options. I know everyone is anxious to have this finalized. And, I assure you every free hour is being devoted to the problem. But I’ll defer any further discussion because Jacob has the details and will talk about our status. Steve that’s it.”

  The Judge moved to the next presenter. The Chief had a rather insular attitude, but his skill at appeasing the public was enough to compensate for most of his shortcomings. If you selected one word to describe the Chief, it would be: solid. He was a large man, well over 6 feet, a thick body with the start of a pot belly, large hands and feet, nose and jaw too large for ordinary aesthetics. But with his uniform and cap, he presented an impressive image.

  “Chief Duncan Stirling, Investigative Division, March 29, 2021. We have two major criminal investigations in progress, both serial killers and at this point no significant progress in solving either one. The first is a team, a woman and a man, who are killing high priced call girls in four or five-star hotels. So far the media has not taken an active interest in this team, primarily because all the girls have been prostitutes.

  But, the Tourist Association is upset. If we have another killing in a hotel, I anticipate the Association will be extremely vocal and will pounding on the Mayor’s door. These hotel killers are unbelievably thorough and crime scenes are not yielding anything.

  The second serial killer doesn’t kill all the time, but this is mainly because the girls have been able to survive the beatings he gives them. He rapes them and tries to beat them to death with his fists or some type of heavy wrench; he is extremely vicious and reckless. We have fingerprints and DNA but he has never been in the system, and there are no matches.

  This is the man who brags to the press about his prowess as a lover. Unfortunately, they have labeled him “Horny Harry”; the nickname from a journalist with a sick sense of humor or possibly to mock him. But, I stress this guy is not a cartoon character, and there is nothing humorous about his attacks. It appears his sixth victim will survive.

  My last comment. As you all know Detective Browning had to retire due to ill health. I have considered a number of alternatives and decided Charlie Taylor is the best man to head up the Homicide group.” The Chief paused, waiting for a reaction; a few loud sighs and grunts surfaced from the attendees.

  Doug Brewster could not contain himself. “Chief, you’re aware that Charlie has irritated almost everyone in this room. He is a drunk or the next best thing, and last year he threatened to plant my pipe right up my…”

  The Judge broke in. “Chief, you know I usually don’t interfere with internal Division appointments, but I do have to ask you about this one, particularly in light of the serial killers you just described.”

  The Chief had anticipated the reaction, especially from Brewster, who Charlie had insulted on numerous occasions. Charlie’s last two years of desultory living had gained him a reputation as a recalcitrant and borderline alcoholic.

  “It’s because of these two cases I wish to appoint Charlie. We are getting nowhere with the conventional approach. I need someone who can take this in a different direction, and Charlie is the best homicide detective we have. I believe he has his drinking under control and regardless of the character flaws the Division needs him. I confess we are desperate.”

  The Judge recognized Doug’s anger, but it was time to move on. “Thanks Chief. Please see me later this afternoon. It might be best if you could hold the announcement of this appointment until we have a chance to talk. Let’s proceed. Jacob, please.”

  Jacob was the only person on the Board who had not been selected by the Judge, an obvious source of tension. Jacob’s hubris had caused problems in the past, but he had a wide circle of influential friends. He was a political animal who was overly aggressive when looking down and the proverbial ass kisser when looking up the organization chain.

  The Judge deemed him marginal but he noted most people exercised caution in any exchange because Jacob’s inimical behavior was well known. This meant he commanded, if not respect, a healthy degree of obsequiousness.

  “Jacob Konahouse, Division Head Prisons, March 29, 2021. Within a few hours my advance person should be at Fort Green prison to start briefing prison staff; the rest of the preparation team will probably not get started for a few days.

  At White Rock prison, a number of our personnel did assist. There were some logistic problems. First, the lead time to contact the relatives and witnesses, which the convicts are allowed as part of their S3 Interrogation, turned out to be longer than anticipated. At Fort Green, my staff will start contacting relatives and other potential witnesses, the Watchers as they are called, as soon as our temporary offices are established.

  Second, the execution process went faster than anticipated and local resources were not able to cope. A backlog developed. Bodies were literally stacked in the hallways; they ran out of gurneys and body bags, a damn mess. Since we will possibly be dealing with almost 200 bodies in 90 days, we have established contracts with firms from outside the Sector to assist as required.

  As far as processing the remainder of the prison population, my staff is working with Legal. But, it has been difficult to find the appropriate amount of time to devote to this problem, regardless of its importance.

  Our goal is to have a set of recommendations by the end of May. Public safety will be the significant issue, and this will be the cornerstone to any recommendation. I know the prisons have to be decommissioned in a year and the prisoners processed or released, but a hasty decision has too many consequences. So we will be methodical, possibly a few weeks late.

  In conclusion, I would like to register my strong opposition to the appointment of Charlie Taylor. His skills, in my view, don’t warrant the aggravation and potential bad press he will attract.”

  The Judge ignored the comment, but Jacob’s presentation triggered more debate about the problems of decommissioning all prisons. Much of the discussion covered old ground, issues which could not be resolved that morning. The repetitive dialogue allowed Stephen’s mind to wander, and he thought about the live demonstrations he had witnessed.

  Of all the innovations, based on the genius of Dr. Max Armstrong, it was the S3 Interrogation which was the most difficult to accept. This process, actually an involuntary interrogation, was the basis for establishing guilt, the death penalty, and the executions. He, along with other senior personnel, had attended a live session; and, he was able to experience the impact of such an interrogation.

  At one level it was simple: the accused, restrained, lay on a table, his head covered with a futuristic helmet. The helmet was laced with a mesh of cables: many connections leading into the helmet and one larger cable leading out. The exit cable ran to a computer system which fed a large screen monitor on the wa
ll. A technician, through a probing process, was able to retrieve and display streams of memory from the accused, thus an involuntary interrogation. It was like a TV show, but here everything was unedited and raw. The vivid memory streams often rendered an audience speechless.

  When a crime scene, as stored by the accused, was on the screen there was no doubt about what happened, brutal, savage and relentless cruelty often the case. This was the output of an S3, an innovation which allowed the national acceptance of the death penalty. Instead of legal appeals, this process was being used to clear death row. The retrieved pockets of memory played out on a wall monitor and established culpability.

  Stephen focused back on to the Board meeting. He was becoming impatient and was prepared to intervene, but the room sensed his mood, and the prison decommissioning discussion ceased. He was ready for the Forensic Division, which had assisted with some of the executions in Sector 13.

  “Dr. Kate, we can proceed. I understand you are going to address the concerns about the 10 convicts at White Rock, who were found to be innocent.”

  Dr. Kate Martinez’s Mexican heritage reflected in a soft olive complexion, dark eyes, long vivid black hair which now contained four or five randomly situated white streaks, the hair being pulled straight back, a no-nonsense approach. She was a healthy mature woman, a runner, not competitive, but she did maintain a regular schedule. People described her as slim, but she noticed over the last year the extra pounds had more tenacity. The one consolation, she told herself, an increase in bust size and a softer curve to her hips.

  As the new technology emerged, her natural curiosity compelled her to become involved, and she was soon a leader, able to understand the new concepts and adapt. The announced creation of Stephen’s Board with the available vacancies stirred her interest. She never applied, old ghosts dampening her aspirations. But, when Stephen called and offered her the Forensic Division, she accepted immediately, only after did doubts resurface. Her emotional churning should not have been a surprise because periodic flashbacks had been with her for years.

  “Dr. Kate Martinez, Forensic Division Head, March 29, 2021, I declare a Condition Confidential and request the recording equipment be turned off during my presentation.”

  Her declaration brought even more focus to the meeting. Kate presented a grim and determined image. She had everyone’s attention. A Condition Confidential signaled a serious issue and was only invoked to ensure top level secrecy; anyone who leaked the discussion which took place under a Condition Confidential would be immediately dismissed and charged with a criminal offense.

  Ann, on a signal from the Judge, pressed the console button to stop the recording; Stephen turned back to Kate. “I assume this has to do with what you observed during the S3 Interrogations at White Rock prison.”

  “Yes, and I will get into the details in a minute, but first let me give an overview. None of this is confirmed, and it’s all highly speculative. But, it is my observation, and I stress only mine. It appears the highly emotional events in a person’s life may be stored multiple times in different locations.”

  Silence. The entire room stared at Kate. Everyone afraid to ask the obvious question; the Judge asked. “Kate, are each of these different memory streams duplicates of the same event or does each memory stream have a different interpretation of the event?”

  Jacob, the political appointee, regularly last to understand implications, was fast enough on this one.

  “What the hell! White Rock has already executed 155 convicts based on the infallibility of the damn memory streams.”

  CHAPTER 4: CHARLIE’S LOG: The Tipping Point

  It’s a shit-face job.

  I snuck away earlier this afternoon. Another week in Records and the Chief and I will have our last conversation, something along the lines of:

  “Duncan, there’s part of my anatomy which is aching for a kiss, why don’t you pucker up?”

  Well, that’s for next week, now it’s a few minutes after six. Monk and I are in my kitchen: maple wood cabinets form a semi-circle around a central work island. The blinds are only partially closed and the warm spring sunshine makes dappling patterns around the kitchen; actually it’s hot, too hot for spring. Monk is starting to arrange the ingredients he needs to prepare his ham on rye specialty, our supper before the basketball game. This happens to be one of those very rare Monday night games, due to some scheduling conflicts.

  Even his gentle smile cannot subdue his menacing appearance, a tall man at 6”8”, just a fraction over 300 pounds, a shaved head, and hands each the size of a small computer monitor. He got the ‘monk’ label at University when he was the only regular church attendee on the team. Monk is new to the priesthood, now Father Ed.

  We were both young kids when he arrived in my neighborhood as an immigrant from some eastern European country, his assimilation difficult because of language and cultural issues. He claims his transition was facilitated by a friendship with me. The two of us romped through elementary school, next did all the teenage crap, both good students, and excellent athletes, our bonding continued to the University level.

  Injuries forced me to the sideline, but Monk graduated to the pros and spent eight full seasons as a defensive tackle, five times named all-pro. During those years, he was a typical young athlete enjoying all the privileges that came with fame and adoration of the fans: parties, women, soft drugs among the pastimes. He had his youth, and as long he stayed away from the hard drugs, he could run and sweat out his indulgences. He abruptly left it all behind and today a Roman Catholic priest.

  When he arrived earlier this afternoon, he walked around the house looking for adjustments. On his last visit, he chastised me; he is upset because I never change anything in the house; the kitchen fridge is still plastered with notes from Nancy and Linda’s drawings. All the same family pictures are on the wall; Linda’s bedroom is vacuumed weekly, bed made up and ready for her return. Since my wife, Nancy, and daughter, Linda, were killed, I’ve had a few problems. It’s been two bad years.

  I’m on a stool at the island. My Internet connection is reliable, and the beer is ice cold.

  “Monk, you know this guy never stops his self-promotion.”

  “Who and what are you talking about? Find a great site?”

  “I’m talking about our illustrious leader of the Legal Division, Doug Brewster. He teaches one evening class at the University, and on his website he has posted his interpretation of the history of our evolution to Justice Reborn. He says it’s for his student. Let me read you this pretentious shit. He goes on for pages.”

  While Monk slices the rye loaf, no sliced bread for these sandwiches, I begin to read aloud from the summary on Doug’s website:

  We live under a radical new system of justice: Justice Reborn. The question is: how did we arrive at the Tipping Point which forced politicians to make this change? The academic debates will probably go on for decades: how did the public’s daily diet of fear and frustration morph into uncompromising anger?

  The general consensus is it started with the years of unresolved environmental issues; the unrelenting matters of global warming and polarity reversal dominated everyday life. The media’s sophistic reporting combined with a searing sun and erratic transmission signals intensified the prevailing tension.

  “Charlie, do you remember our next hospital visit?”

  “Yes, I remember….. St. Michael’s Children’s Hospital, cancer ward.”

  “Not sure which ward and won’t know until we get there. But, I think we’ll need Wes; there is a lot to distribute, and the hospital doesn’t want us on the ward for more than 90 minutes.”

  “Not a problem but try and get us some smaller jerseys. The extra-large are more like overcoats, and we look like refugees. Don’t worry I’ll make sure Wes comes. Toss me another beer. And listen carefully: this is important.”

  The scale and complexity of these problems meant the public had to depend on the expert. Unfortunately, the war of egos do
minated and politicians, bureaucrats and scientists all took turns, resulting in many stalemates, no sustained focus, and no practical solutions. Responsibility and control evaporated in these heated debates.

  This time, it’s Monk’s turn to interrupt. “Is it true you once threatened to shove Doug’s pipe up his ass?”

  “True. At the time, he was just an assistant DA…… still a real asshole. I needed a search warrant and no matter what I came up with he insisted it wasn’t enough and never provided any ideas or assistance as to how to enhance the request. I asked him if I shoved the pipe up his ass would this clear his mind.”

  “How much did that cost you?’

  “Doug never registered a formal complaint, but it trickled down and got to the Chief. All I got was one of Duncan’s screaming sessions. Now please, allow me to continue with this masterpiece.”

  By this time our original system of justice had evolved into a process the man on the street could not support: defense lawyer flaunting their clever arguments and judges ready to accept any minor deviations in police protocol as reason for dismissal. The inequity (real or perceived) became the new focal point of frustration, supplemented with prisons as hardcore playgrounds, and repeat offenders laughing at society.

  I stop. “Well, Doug got this right. I remember too many cases where a judge appeared to only care about the accused, and we had to prove ‘intent’. The fact that a son of a bitch left a night club pissed, mad as hell, got into his car and drove right into the exiting crowd, didn’t matter. We had to prove he intended to kill someone, two dead bodies didn’t count. For us this was an impossible scenario; his bloody track record didn’t even matter. How could I prove he meant to kill and not just do some minor damage? Of course, for me the key point was that there were two dead kids, and this asshole got his wrists slapped.”

  “You know Charlie, if you had pursued your legal career, you would have ended up as a hanging judge.”