He looked back at her. “Are you telling me you’ve never overstepped the mark in your job as a police officer? Hmm? You’ve never been excessively rough with someone you’ve apprehended? Sometimes the result justifies the action, Detective. You of all people, in your line of work, should know this.”
Salvi looked back through the window at Margola, then pictured the mugshow footage she’d seen upon his arrest. Based on what she’d read in his file, Margola was once a man who didn’t think twice about cutting out another man’s intestines, wrapping them around a Christmas tree as decoration and spiking the man’s heart on top as though it were a star. All because some mob boss’s eight year-old daughter was not given the lead role in a school play.
“Twisting someone’s arm a little tighter than necessary is quite different,” she said to Remmell. “You torture them. You chemically castrate them. You brainwash them. And for those that need it, you tweak their brains. Numb the parts you don’t like. What you do, is it really that much different to what these men did on the outside?” She wasn’t sure she necessarily agreed with what she was saying, but Remmell was opening up to her, so she was going to milk it for what it was worth.
He turned to look at her. “You make us sound like monsters, Detective.” He motioned back to Margola. “They’re the monsters. And we’re their saviors. We systematically raze their former selves and we build new people from their ashes. Good people, through religion. Religion has the power to control behavior. Make them believe in something enough, they will obey its commands. It’s the only way.”
“Obey its commands…” Salvi said, thinking aloud as she stared at Remmell. “But are you building new people from their ashes, or are you building a religious army of slaves who will never question your commands?”
Remmell stared at her. “We build people who give back to their community. Something lacking in society these days. If that’s called making them slaves.” He shrugged.
She nodded. “People who clean your streets, grow your crops, work in your BioLume factory. They make you a nice profit with their free labor. That’s slavery, you know.”
Remmell’s face became less serene. “Would you rather we put them back on the streets as they were so they can hurt more people?” He paused a moment, before finding his own serenity again. “This topic is out of my area of concern, Detective. If you wish to continue that line of discussion, perhaps you should speak with Mayor Solme.” Remmell turned back to his console.
Salvi looked through the window at Margola, again unsure of how she felt. Somewhere deep inside, an unease filled her at thoughts of what treatments the Complex might be doling out to its inmates. They were, effectively lab rats. Manipulated, put through extremely violent therapies, and controlled through drugs and neural tech for years on end. She hadn’t witnessed the treatment herself, but after seeing the room with restraints and surgical tools, she could just imagine what they were doing to them. She pictured the terrified Subjugate she’d passed in the corridor on the first day; his bloodied face and tunic, the way he turned into the wall away from her. This would not be allowed on a member of the public, and hauntingly harked back to the very early days of the treatment of mental health patients, so was it right to do this to a criminal? They were still humans, after all.
Or were they?
Were these monsters, with their horrendous crimes, no longer able to be considered men?
It was a hard question to answer. It was Salvi’s job to pursue justice for up the bodies these monsters left behind. She’d seen the victims and their families, knew their suffering. These monsters had tortured and killed many, so was the treatment they received now simply karma slapping them back hard? Many of the residents’ victims were now dead so they never had to live with the memories of their torture, but the Subjugates were left alive and faced with the torture every single day if they stepped out of line.
But what if the treatment really was curing them? Turning them around? If it stopped them from being a menace to society, wasn’t that a good thing? If they now served the community at large instead of taking from it, did the good outweigh the bad? Did their victims’ suffering justify the Subjugates’ suffering now?
Salvi still didn’t have an answer. But there was only one question she really cared about. Was the monster still alive inside one of these men? Could one of these Subjugates be faking their cure? Could one of these Subjugates have killed Sharon Gleamer? Was one of these Subjugates playing a game that would close the Complex down and end their suffering, end their torture? Or had the treatment simply failed? Had one of these Subjugates broken their serenity?
Toward the end of Margola’s interview, Attis Solme entered the control room.
“How is it going?” he asked, his large stature making the room seem that much smaller.
“Good,” Remmell answered. “The detectives only have Subjugate-52 to go.”
“Ah! Edward Moses,” he said with a smile.
“Yes,” Salvi said. “The best of your worst. Or is that, the worst of your best?”
Solme eyed her curiously. “You must have a good stomach to handle such cases, Detective Brentt.”
She eyed him back. “It’s a prerequisite of the job.”
“You stayed in town last night?”
“Yes,” she said, then paused. “How did you know?”
“I ran into Preacher Vowker. He said he saw you in Bianchi’s restaurant.”
She nodded. “Are you close to the preacher?”
“Quite,” Solme said. “My wife was his sister. We founded the community together. I attend church every Sunday.”
Salvi recalled seeing the crucifix on the wall of Solme’s office, the stone statuette of Mary on his desk, remembered him talking in the BioLume factory about being a religious, born-again, man.
He smiled at her. “Our Father has led me on the righteous path and now He is leading our Subjugates.”
Salvi stared at him, thinking of Margola, of the preacher, of the Children of Christ. “Did you know Sharon Gleamer personally?”
“Everyone knew Sharon,” he said.
Salvi waited for him to elaborate.
“She was the heart of the youth corps of the Children of Christ,” he said. “She spent a lot of time at the church, volunteering across town. She even tutored some of our residents with their reading and writing.”
“Wait,” Salvi said straightening. “She had direct, one-on-one contact with the Serenes? You didn’t think to mention this?”
“Everyone in Bountiful has contact with the Serenes in one way or another. She taught them in the Children of Christ hall. There were always others present in the room. They were never left alone.”
“But she taught them one-on-one? Just her, dealing directly with a Serene?”
“Yes, I guess you could say that. But like I said, it would be in the hall and others would be present elsewhere in the room. They would not be alone together.”
“And what about the Subjugates?”
Solme looked back at her but didn’t answer.
“Did she have similar contact with the Subjugates?” she pressed. “One-on-one?”
“No,” Solme said firmly. “The Subjugates, with their escorts, would help the church in group activities only. They did not have one-on-one contact with her.”
“And your guards can confirm this?”
Attis glanced at Dr Remmell, who was watching them both carefully.
“Yes,” he said. “Now have you found any evidence from your interviews so far that indicates one of my Subjugates did this?”
“Not as yet, no.”
Solme nodded. “And you won’t, Detective. The men who emerge from the Solme Complex as Serenes are nothing like the men who first came here. We have seen to that. These men will not reoffend. Ever.”
“You believe in your program,” Salvi said. “I understand.”
“Do you?” He stared at her, face serious. “You’re not the first to doubt what we do here, Detec
tive. And you won’t be the last. But I tell you, we have fought tooth and nail to get where we are today. When I first planned to open this place, you can imagine the opposition I got, housing criminals of this caliber so close to the human population, with plans to eventually let them out and reintegrate them into society. But you see, this was the best place for the Solme Complex. Right here alongside Bountiful. Right in the heart of those who believe in love and forgiveness. Those who believe in shunning the devil and avoiding temptation. We are turning these sinners into children of Christ. And it is working!”
Solme paused, taking a moment to control his demeanor. He unfurled his clenched fist, which had been raised beating the air with passion, and wiped at the saliva gathering in the corner of his mouth.
“As I said before, Detective, do not try to sling mud at this community without sufficient evidence. Because it won’t stick. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. The people of Bountiful support us wholeheartedly.”
Not everyone, she thought as she recalled the motel owner from last night.
“And if we find irrevocable evidence to link the murder to one of your Subjugates?” she asked.
“You won’t. Because I know they didn’t do this.”
“Then who did?”
“That, I’m afraid, is your job to work out.”
“Has anyone ever made threats against you or the Complex?”
Attis shot Remmell a glance. “None we’ve taken seriously.”
“Who?” Salvi asked.
Attis eyed her. “The next community over, Garner Town. It’s a survivalist community. Another pullaway, only instead of believing in God they believe in guns.”
“What happened?”
Attis shrugged. “They paid me a visit and said if any of my Serenes or Subjugates tried to enter their community they would be shot.”
“Did you report this?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because right now our residents don’t go anywhere near Garner Town. There’s no chance that can happen.”
“Someone made a threat of violence against your residents. You’ve had clear opposition to this facility. What if someone is trying to set up the Complex to get it shut down?”
Attis gave her a stony look. “Well isn’t that why you’re here? To find out who did this?”
“Yes, it is. But it would be easier if people mentioned important information like that at the start.”
“The people of Garner Town like to talk a lot, but they rarely leave their community. They’re not a threat. As for my residents, I’ve already told you. No one in my Complex did this. You’re wasting your time and ours.” He shot Remmell a glance, gave a nod of farewell to Salvi, then left.
She turned to Remmell, whose eyes were still on the door. “Are you really a religious man, Doctor?”
Remmell turned back to the mirrored glass. “Christ is our savior, Detective.”
Salvi walked down the hollowed green-tinged corridor to the bathroom under Serene-41’s escort. When they reached the door, he made her wait outside while he ensured it was empty. There were only male bathrooms at the Solme Complex, after all.
“You may go inside.” Serene-41 bowed.
Salvi entered the room and saw no urinals, just three stalls lining the wall to the left, while wash stations lined the wall the right, and a large frosted window filled the wall ahead, allowing for natural light. She noticed how clean it was, noticed calming music filling the room, noticed the three stalls had no doors. She wondered whether this was a deterrent to stop the Subjugates from getting too familiar with themselves. She suddenly looked around for cameras, wondering whether there were any security measures. She spotted one in the corner and stared at it, wondered who might be watching on the other side. With no other option, she chose a stall and undertook her business swiftly, taking care to stay covered, then left the stall and moved to the automatic wash station.
She rinsed her hands, listening to the soothing music, trying to detect if it was having an effect on her, whether it would have a soothing effect on the Subjugates.
A noise disturbed her thoughts, however.
It was voices in the distance. Voices that seemed to sever the tranquility.
She realized they were coming from outside and moved to the window. She couldn’t see through the frosted glass, but along the top was a mesh airstrip. She listened again for the voices. They were shouts. Angry shouts.
The mesh airstrip in the window was too high up, so she climbed onto the wash station and peered out. There, in the near distance, was the farm. And there in front of a tractor was Levan Bander shouting into the face of a Subjugate who sat crouched on his knees, face scrunched in regret and hands clasped in prayer.
She watched as Bander yelled something that she didn’t catch, then pulled out his baton and swung it heavily at the Subjugate. She flinched at the impact. Immediately the other Subjugates who had been watching turned away, closed their eyes and began praying.
Salvi’s eyes widened and her breath caught, as Bander continued to hit the Subjugate, who in no way fought back. The Subjugate fell down to the ground, covering his head, desperately trying to protect his halo, as Bander swung the baton again and again. Eventually another guard, Jones, came jogging over and grabbed Bander’s swinging arm. Bander, face red and furious, pushed the other guard away and raised his baton at the man. Jones cowered back, holding his arms in defense, and motioned back to the main building. Bander took a moment, catching his breath, then he lowered the baton and looked back at the bloody, still heap of the Subjugate on the ground. He moved over and wiped his baton on the Subjugate’s uniform, then called to a group of three Subjugates standing close by, motioning them to collect the injured man. They rushed over to the Subjugate, eyes lowered to the ground, then lifted him and walked him back toward the main building again.
Bander hooked his baton onto his belt again, straightened his synthetic uniform, wiped his brow and continued on.
“Detective?” Serene-41 called from outside the door to the bathroom. “Are you alright?”
Salvi looked back at the closed door. “Just a minute,” she called, as she slid back down to the ground again, heart thumping against her ribcage. Calming her breath, she studied her reflection in the mirror, smoothed down her straight dark hair and ran her finger along the edge of her red lipstick. She made sure everything looked neat and tidy as normal. And it did.
Except for the crease in her brow that remained from the incident she’d just witnessed.
She moved toward the door, her eyes catching on the security camera in the corner of the room as she did.
Escorted by Serene-41, Salvi made her way back to the control room. As she stepped inside, she noticed that Margola was gone from the next room and Mitch sat alone at the table scrolling through something on his iPort.
After waiting several minutes, the door to the interview room opened and Bander walked in with Subjugate-52, Edward Moses. Salvi’s eyes darted between the two men, equally curious. Moses was tall, about 6’3, and weighed at least 240 pounds. As she’d thought from seeing his subjugated photo the day before, he had less muscle definition than when he arrived at the Solme Complex, but clearly all the manual labor he did had managed to keep him relatively fit and strong.
Bander sat Moses down in the seat opposite Mitch, and she studied the caretaker carefully for any effects he might be showing after what she’d witnessed just minutes before. But she saw nothing. He stood back against the wall, quiet and calm, just as he did in the interviews yesterday. This was a man used to dishing out violence, all in a day’s work. In fact, he looked like he could go a few more rounds yet. Bander too, was fit and strong.
She turned her eyes back to Mitch as he began to interview Edward Moses.
“Subjugate-52?” he said.
“Yes,” Moses spoke as he gave a slight bow. His voice was deep, the accent refined.
Salvi’s iPort alerted an incomin
g call, startling her. She saw it was Ford, and switched it to her lenses, turning away from Remmell’s curious stares.
Ford appeared in her lenses, blonde hair tugged back into a rough bun, her blue eyes full of business.
“Brentt,” she said. “I couldn’t get through to Grenville. Where is he?”
“Interviewing a Subjugate. What’s up?”
“A second vic just surfaced in Bountiful.”
Salvi paused, her body tightened. “Where?”
“Riverton will send you through the address and I got Swaggert and Weston heading up on the SlingShot. Get out there before the local cops mess up your crime scene.”
“On it,” she said, then tapped her iPort, ending the call, and went for the door.
“What’s going on?” Remmell asked.
“Interview’s over.” She walked out and headed to the other room, opening the door. Mitch, Bander and Moses turned to look at her.
“Detective,” she said to Mitch. “We’ve got to go.”
“You’re not supposed to be in here!” Bander said, as Mitch stood.
Salvi gave Bander an indifferent look, then glanced at Moses, who sat still and calm, staring at her.
“Subjugate-52.” She gave a nod. “We’ll continue this later.”
Bander abruptly turned to Moses, hand on the baton, giving him a hard look not to speak. Moses registered the look and lowered his eyes to the table.
Mitch stepped out of the room, ushering her with him and closing the door. “What is it?”
“We got a second vic.”
Mitch stared back at her a second. “Shit,” he said, moving past her down the corridor. She turned and followed, as Serene-41 hurried to catch up.
Chapter Nine
The Anniversary
Salvi and Mitch ducked below the yellow police tape, cordoning off the crime scene where the second victim had been found. It was a small house a few blocks from the center of town, and a few blocks west of Sharon Gleamer’s. Manicured gardens and fresh paint showed the owner cared for appearances. Or perhaps that she’d recently had Serenes around to do some work.
The Subjugate Page 16