by Ivan Bering
Wes leads me over to the reception desk, and I meet the clerk who had registered the woman. He is a young man, well-scrubbed and meticulous in dress and decorum. He has been through this before and has his delivery ready.
“I don’t remember a lot about the woman; she was tall and rather robust, not fat but muscular. She wore an enormous, floppy hat so it was difficult to see her face. Dark hair, again the hat covered a lot; I looked over our security tape and this didn’t help very much. She said she wanted a room on the second floor close to the elevator because her hip made walking a problem, and she registered for four days.”
I reviewed the tapes last night, and he’s right the hat is an excellent cover, I ask. “She paid with cash; is this a little unusual?”
“No, it happens often enough; no alarm bells rang. I’ve been thinking about the registration, and there are a couple of very minor points. She did have a cold, you know a raspy throat with a deep voice and was wearing beautiful white cotton gloves, which almost hid the fact she had ugly hands.”
“Ugly hands?”
“My wife and I are both hand models. When an advertising picture displays a restricted view, you know just the hands, the hand you are looking at could be mine or my wife’s. This happens for example when it’s a cream or lotion commercial. I’m very conscious of hands, their size, condition and shape. I pay attention, and the lady’s gloves could not hide her rather thick or misshapen hands.”
The clerk keeps on talking, but he is repeating and rearranging the same details: the hat, the build, the voice, and the hands. I'm no longer listening; I’ve absorbed the details, nothing computes, time to move.
Wes thanks the man and we take the elevator to the second floor. The murder scene is in a room almost directly across from the bank of elevators; the forensic team is finishing up. The killers were thorough, and there is not much to be gained from this scene. Something does bother me about the scene, as I said I’m great when it comes to detail, and something doesn’t fit.
“Wes, do you happen to have the final recording the prostitute made back to the agency?”
“Sure, you want to hear it?” I nod and he starts the tape. As we stand in the hallway, it’s a female voice, not frightened, not stressed, in fact sounding very routine.
“Hi gang, this Sherry, I’m in room 272 at the Ritz Hotel and should be here for a few days; everything is AOK.”
Wes explains. “The AOK is the code they use; this means she feels absolutely safe.”
I’m really not listening to Wes and am not satisfied. “Again, play it again.” We listen again and then the anomaly strikes home.
“Goddamn it Wes, get the tech team back here. This is crazy. Didn’t you hear she said room 272? And we’ve been analyzing room 212 where the body was found. How the hell did she get from room 272 to room 212?”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head in disgust. “Shit! You’re right. Goddamn it. I missed it. Suppose this two room routine was part of the other four killings, and I missed it each goddamn time.”
Wes and I stare at each other, both probably thinking about the same issues. Do we have two murder scenes? Why kill in 272 and then move the body to 212? Why risk moving a body through a busy hotel hallway? And, I’m sure when we check this will be the pattern in the other four killings, a killing room, and a dumping room. This doesn’t make sense.
This couple is too goddamn smart. How in the hell are they destroying all the forensic evidence? Why two rooms? How are they deceiving the prostitutes into thinking they’re safe? After four well-advertised hotel killings, they’re still able to deceive a fifth victim.
Jesus Christ, I’m back.
CHAPTER 14: waiting at Fort Green
Now she understood why they called him: Crazy Charlie.
Pat Holdner, the advance person for Sector 14, worked most of the weekend except for the one evening to attend the Spring Dance. She enjoyed the dance and the opportunity to reconnect with friends and colleagues. The preposterous episode had been Charlie and how he forced the huge sergeant to his knees, the screaming an extreme and disconcerting spectacle; Emma didn’t deserve that intrusion. Everyone said he was the best homicide detective in the Sector, but she didn’t understand why Chief Duncan allowed this behavior in his Division.
At Fort Green Prison, Pat and her advance team slogged their way through the day. The old building and associated infrastructure made preparations difficult because even with all the advanced technology they still needed considerable cabling, sound proofing and a multitude of other modifications.
Tomorrow she planned to debrief the death row convicts, all options open for discussion and legal requirements satisfied. The convicts were already knowledgeable, thanks to a grapevine, which was surprisingly accurate as well as swift. An insidious jailhouse rumor worried Pat: no death row processing this week.
It was near the end of the day, and Pat was impatiently waiting. All the concrete, all the security gates, all the guards, all the rifles, and all the buzzers left her anxious and ready to leave at the end of the day. Even the brightly painted walls couldn’t stave off depression. Someone had dimmed the corridor lights, the dull ambiance another downer.
John burst into the room, apologizing for being late. John Hellson was Deputy Warden and now operational control for the Death Row project. Pat decided to concentrate her efforts on him and hope this would create buy-in and fill the existing leadership vacuum. Uncle Willie had forced the issue, obstinate and uncooperative, not the ideal Warden for such a pioneering process. She started slowly, wanting to ensure she didn’t overpower John and cause more tension.
“John, I’ve a video of an actual S3 interrogation in progress. But first a few comments: you should understand all Watchers are given a thorough orientation. Time is the issue so we want to ensure they stay focused and not get carried away with seeing this technology. Even after orientation sessions it’s quite common for people to be jolted when the first live feed plays on the screen, but they are pressed to make quick decisions. The 45-minute clock is always with us.”
“I’m still struggling, trying to visualize the entire scene.”
“Patience. I know it’s difficult. All the Watchers are in a soundproof room with a large wall mounted screen plus smaller individual monitors. Each screen is connected to the memory scanning process and displays the results. In addition, there are a series of individual switches to allow the Watcher to signal the Medical Techs; they signal to move the probe further into the future or to step back in time. Last, there is a unique audio link between the Medical Techs and Watchers; this allows direct verbal communication, if required.
The decisions are based on the scenes they see playing out in front of them. When the technician positions the probe and activates the scan, the contents are played out on the individual screens for each Watcher. The decision becomes: what time frame is being reflected with this memory stream? Can they recognize this segment of the convict’s history?
All Watchers don’t necessarily agree on the time frame being displayed. In these situations, the Historian’s opinion is usually the critical factor. He has undergone extensive training, including all aspects of our history from women’s fashions to sports statistics, and typically can quickly recognize the time period of any scene.
A few points to be aware of: first, even if all Watchers agree to a move, the playback cannot be stopped instantaneously. Think of a car moving a full speed. Even when you decide to brake, it takes some time to stop, this along with the technician’s reaction time is what we call: the one minute lag. It can, of course, be longer than one minute; this depends on the contents of the particular memory cells and can be embarrassing.
Assume the convict has selected his mother to assist with recognizing early memories, and we hit a memory spot where he is masturbating. Mom wants this to stop. But, the display can’t be stopped instantaneously. In fact, Watchers are instructed to keep watching because often these acts are associated with a violent
crime. The Watchers have to keep their eyes on the screen, regardless how it disturbs them, and confirm no crime has been committed.”
The Deputy stared straight ahead then. “Christ, if I am a Watcher, I may have to watch this guy play with himself, and ..”
Pat cut him off. “It gets worse. Remember most of these convicts have been around for a long time. As a watcher, you’ll be seeing brutal footage; there is no editing. These are the rawest images you’ll ever see. Let’s watch.”
She pushed a few buttons and the screen filled: an S3 Interrogation, the first view a group of elementary school kids playing pickup baseball. A Watcher pushed a control knob ‘ahead’ and after 1 or 2 minutes the screen went blank. Then a voice was heard in the Watchers’ room.
“This repositioning may take a few minutes, and the screen will be blank while this happens, a warning buzzer will sound when the next image stream is ready.”
Shortly the screen filled again. This time, it was in a prison cell, and the Watcher reacted by requesting a leap backward and the cycle repeated itself a number of times. Some of the scenes were disconcerting, and the Watchers were given reminders to concentrate. A large clock in front of the screen maintained a countdown, and at around 30 minutes the screen filled with an armed robbery. The scene was chaos, screaming, and gunshots. John could see the Watchers were distressed but did signal the end; they arrived at the target memory stream, the crime scene. The video stopped. The technicians removed all the connecting cables and wheeled the convict out of the room.
Pat started before John could ask. “He’s being rolled down to the execution chambers. Since he’s already been medicated as part of S3, there is no need for further sedatives. As well, there is always someone from Legal Division present to watch the proceedings. When the session is stopped by the Watchers, the legal representative reviews the result one last time. He confirms the scene.
John, your staff will be part of the execution crew, but the actual release of the fatal injection will be carried out by the Citizen Team; these are regular citizens selected from a pool, in the same way, we used to select jury members. This Citizen Team functions as the old fashion army firing squads in that they all push a button, but no one knows which button delivered the fatal mixture. There are three citizens in each Team.
A new Citizen Team is assembled for each execution. You’ll need to provide space and meals for about 15 to 21 citizens each day. Since we don’t know how many executions will take place, we always bring extras for the Citizen Team selection, like a jury pool. We’ll bus them in and out daily; actually they’re bused out immediately after an execution.”
John was momentarily speechless. The demo had been overwhelming. Most disturbing: the unedited contents of personal memories, the unflattering honesty of each image stream. Was this what would be revealed by the men he had been guarding for years? Brutal unforgiving violence from men who had now found Jesus.
“John, when I explain the process to the convicts and tell them about their options, I think I’ll use this video. It’ll better than any verbal explanation and will demonstrate what they are facing; I’m sure they already know, but a full description is a legal requirement. John, you OK? Comments on the plan?’
“You’re right they should know exactly what they’re up against. It’s needless punishment for them or relatives to go through this unless they’re innocent. I’ll bring the Warden up to speed. It appears you’re going to need at least a few more days to get everything ready. I’ll leave now and meet with the Warden. See you in a couple of hours.”
Pat watched him leave. She had not shared any of her concerns with him. Her staff had finally arrived, but no official authorization to proceed from Judge Miller’s office. And where the hell was the Forensic crew? Where was Emma?
She was getting stonewalled. At the spring dance, Dr. Kate had tried to be reassuring and talked about some vague procedural issue which sounded like double-talk, not something to be expected from Kate. Jacob didn’t even try to explain, his only comment: press on and get ready. It was only Emma, after a few drinks, who hinted that it was significantly more than a procedure issue which was slowing down authorization.
What the hell was going on? And why was no one talking?
CHAPTER 15: Charlie’s Log: Chinese Supper
The Chinese Supper is a tradition, an annual event in the late spring.
Almost everyone in the Investigative and Forensic Divisions attends, with people arriving at different times during the evening. As shifts end, they wander in wearing uniforms or office garb. It’s very informal. The recent disturbing Spring Dance continues to be a hot item on the minds of many people; I avoid such discussion groups but am aware of my notoriety.
The reason for the short time between events is the Prison Decommissioning project. Once it is fully operational, there’ll be little time for staff to attend full-scale Sector events. The Executive decided to establish an earlier date rather than cancel the supper.
I’m still thinking about the damn hotel room and wondering how or why the prostitute gave the wrong room number to her agent. But she didn’t, her controller sent her to room 272, and her audio stated room 272. Wes is upset because he never recognized the room switch at the first scene.
The noise is escalating as the booze starts to loosen everyone up, and the mode kicks in. I’m sipping, and I do mean sipping, a cold glass of cheap house wine, my one and only for the night. The two Divisions have the place reserved, and it’s like a large family gathering, good news, and bad news. The place is your typical Chinese restaurant with lots of red and gold, a few dragons hanging from the ceiling, and staff bustling around with steaming bowls of food for deposit on the large round tables.
Wes and some of the gang begin to settle on one spot. But table membership is rather dynamic as people wander from one group to the next; gossip is a great mixer. The table is loaded with food, and the carousel has a variety of dishes, some of which I can recognize, but many are just a mass of something or other; someone asks the question. “What kind of meat is that?”
It’s dark meat, cut into thin strips. I can’t resist; it’s not original and really not funny. “It’s Lassie but don’t worry the collar was removed before the preparation started.”
Groans and moans. I look over to the right and there is Red; she doesn’t say anything just shakes her head, not impressed. Next, she surprises me and comes over and sits next to me.
“I thought since we’re going to be working together it’s better if we’re able to talk.”
“Sure, I’m all for that.” I know it isn’t a brilliant answer, but I’m rather nervous. The food starts disappearing from the carousel; the chatter is continuous and louder, as the wine is consumed everyone becoming more animated. Red and I are cautious, and the conversation is a little awkward and stilted, on both sides. My phone rings; it's Karen and have to answer.
“Karen, where the hell are you? We’ve saved a seat for you; the food is good but disappearing.”
She is excited. “Charlie, I’d been thinking about your question, you know……. ‘why did Horny Harry bend down close to her ear and whisper his instructions?’…….. I don’t think he has a partner. The son of a bitch is too self-centered. My theory is: he is recording everything for the future. He wants to replay and by whispering his instructions so they are not heard, her comments will play back as voluntary. A low whisper will not be heard. The video plays like she is really sincere, and all her comments sound spontaneous. Coming from her without any coercion. On playback, he comes across as a great lover.”
I think she is on to something, and she is pleased. I minimize my challenge. “You think he may be creating a library of his love conquests for a replay? The problem is your victim remembers it was dark, really dark; this is not a great setting to produce a porno video.”
“Yes, I know. I chased down the one tech who hasn’t left for Chinese supper. He tells me it is possible, for top quality you need to get some spe
cialized equipment. It comes in a miniaturized version and can be mounted almost anyplace. The good news is: it’s expensive and only a few shops in the city handle the gear. If our lover boy purchases locally, we may be on to him.”
“You might be right. Harry is in love with himself. Great thinking. Now come on down and I’ll buy you a drink. You know the food is good.”
“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”
I hang up. Red and I are alone at the table; the others have all finished eating and have moved on to the bar or dance floor. I’m feeling good because I think Karen may have made a breakthrough, and I get carried away. “Well Emma, do you want to have the first dance?”
She looks straight at me, speaks real soft to ensure no one else will hear. “Charlie, you and I are never going to dance; we’re miles apart.”
“What does that mean?’
“This Justice Reborn is made for you. Compassion minimized. You see everything in terms of black and white, guilty or innocent, right or wrong. I live with a lot of grays.”
“Sounds like an introductory psychology course review and still doesn’t explain anything.”
“Your reputation is a hard-nosed guy who pushes staff, a man prepared to use his weapon, a relentless pursuer. How many people have you shot in the course of your career? I understand during your time on the force your record is littered with entries related to use of excessive force, unprofessional conduct and a series of sessions with Internal Affairs. No one else has come close to that record.”
“Sounds right and your point is?”
“I’ll bet you never lost a minute’s sleep over any of this and next day arrive early at the station to receive the applause from all the boys. No tears, no remorse. No doubts about any shooting, just another criminal off the streets.”