Thriller: I Am Sal - A Mystifying Crime Thriller (Thriller, Crime Thriller, Murder Mystery Book 1)

by Abraham Falls

  “Really? I’ll be right there.” I hung up the phone and shoved the last of the eggs and sausage into my mouth, then washed it down with the rest of my coffee. I slid out of the booth and dropped a twenty onto the check, waved at the waitress and headed out the door.

  The Armory was only a few blocks away, so it took me less than ten minutes to get there. I parked beside the CSI van, then found my way inside to the gymnasium. Armstrong was there, waiting for me, and waved me over as soon as I came through the door.

  “The more I dig into this case,” he said, “the more I start to wonder if I’ve found myself in the twilight zone. You ever get that kind of feeling?”

  “On this case? Every single day. What have you got for me?”

  He was leading me toward the table, and I could see what appeared to be some kind of machinery lying on it. I couldn’t recognize what it was, partly because of all the melted plastic and such that was stuck to it, but it sort of reminded me of one of those things we used to see in a dentist’s office, with lots of different arms on it. The closer I got, though, the less it looked like that.

  “What the hell is this?” I asked.

  “Those are the exact words I said when it was laid out in front of me this morning. I’d never seen anything like it before, or at least, not outside of a science fiction movie. Take another look, and then give me your best guess.”

  I looked hard at the device again, and even reached out and tried to turn it over, to get another angle on it. It wasn’t terribly heavy, but when I grasped one of the arms on it and lifted, it only flexed. It suddenly hit me that, while it was pretty long, it was articulated the same way a person’s arm would be. In addition, at the end of the arm was what looked very much like a hand with three fingers and a thumb. The hand was slightly larger than mine, but it appeared to me that it should be able to do anything a human hand could do.

  I looked back at Armstrong. “Hell, is this a robot?”

  Armstrong nodded with a big grin on his face. “If I had a cigar, I’d give it to you. What you’re looking at is a robot, all right, one that was apparently built right there in that house. The parts we’ve been able to identify are all easy to come by online, but pretty much every single one of them would be pretty expensive. These aren’t the kinds of things your average hobbyist would be buying; I think we’re dealing with someone who knows an awful lot about computers and electronics.”

  I looked at Armstrong again, thinking about all the things I’d heard since I started working on this case. “Any idea what this robot was supposed to do?”

  “Well, that’s sort of a mystery. However, we have come to conclusions about some of these components, because what’s odd is that some of these should have been programmable, but they’ve been converted to remote control. If you take all of the different components together, then I’d have to say that, theoretically, this robot can do just about anything. It would all depend on just how much computing power went into controlling it, of course.”

  I probably looked confused. “If it’s just a remote control robot, what makes it so special? I mean, you can buy remote control robots just about anywhere, nowadays.”

  Armstrong was nodding again. “That would be an easy assumption to make, but for one thing. All those components have to be controlled simultaneously, in order to make the robot work smoothly. It doesn’t work like one of those cheap kits you can buy at Wally World or on Amazon, because this would take a fairly serious computer to make all the parts work together properly. The problem is, there’s no computer attached to it anywhere. Whatever computer controlled this thing, it was mounted somewhere else in that house and operated this thing by radio waves and encrypted transmissions.”

  I remembered Levens talking about the “big deal” and “investment” that he’d said Sheriff Branson was excited about. “Could this be some new kind of technology?” I asked. “I mean, as in some sort of new invention involved here?”

  Armstrong grinned. “Agent, from what I know of robotics, this is so new that I’m tempted to wonder if our amnesiac might be from the future.”

  I felt a chill run down my spine, and knew I was onto something. Branson was going on and on about an investment that was going to make him rich, and I was looking at what had to be one of the most advanced inventions in robotics in decades. It would be very difficult to believe there wasn’t a connection, which meant that Branson had to have known Sal before the fire.

  Johnson had gone out there to talk to Sal about an investigation; I was beginning to wonder if he had gone to Sal’s house to try to steal this very robot. That didn’t tell me how he had ended up dead, but I was still working on the hypothesis that Sal was telling me the truth, and had been in that basement, so I was looking for another suspect in the murder.

  Armstrong was saying something, and I forced myself back to the present. “What? Say again,” I said.

  “I said, there are a couple of very interesting things about this robot. First, look right here.” He pointed at a broken section on what I took to be the robot’s head. “See how the edge of the hole has this small, smooth, round part? That appears to be where a bullet struck it. Now, since the computer that controlled this thing was safe and secure somewhere else, shooting it wouldn’t do a whole lot of good, but somebody tried. The second thing that I find interesting is the left hand. You have to look closely at the finger joints, but do you see that brownish, gooey substance? Well, that’s blood. The way the fingers were bent kept those little bits from getting consumed by the fire, and we were able to get enough of the sample to be sure that it is, in fact, blood.”

  My eyes were locked on his. “And have you identified the blood yet?”

  I swear, Armstrong’s eyes twinkled at me. “It’ll take DNA to make an absolute identification, but it’s A-negative, just like Kyle Johnson’s blood type.”

  I’m sure my eyes were probably as big around as your average coffee cup. “Are you telling me that it’s possible this thing is what murdered Kyle Johnson?”

  “Can a machine be a murderer? I can tell you that, in my opinion, what we’re looking at is the weapon that was used to kill him, but a weapon is not a murderer. Somewhere, there was a computer that was controlling this thing, because no human with a game controller could have made all of these parts work together the way they would have to in order to accomplish anything. That computer, whether it was instructed to or acted on its own electronic initiative, is what operated this robot when it, theoretically, reached up and grabbed Deputy Johnson by the throat, and ripped out his jugular vein.”

  “If true, why would a computer do that? What possible motive could a computer have to kill someone?”

  “Oh, don’t sell it short,” Armstrong said. “I can think of several reasons why a computer might decide to take an action like this, such as trying to defend itself or its creator. This robot may have been trying to save your buddy Sal from Johnson. Let’s face it, he had a rep for getting carried away during some of his arrests. There’s also the possibility that the robot was only reaching out to restrain Johnson, and that the actual death was an accident. Those hands are probably a lot stronger than human hands, so it’s quite possible the robot, or the computer, I should say, never meant to cause physical harm.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “Wait a minute, as far as I know, computers don’t really think. All they can do is what they’re told, right? So, is it possible someone told this computer to use this robot to kill Kyle Johnson?”

  Armstrong blinked, but then he nodded. “Sure, that’s possible, if we assume were dealing with a normal computer, but I think we’ve already thrown that out the window. This robot is probably one of the most complicated robots I’ve ever seen, and it would take a very sophisticated computer to control all the different functions it’s capable of. I don’t think were dealing with just a normal computer, here, I think we’re dealing with something like those computers that drive cars. Artificial intelligence, that’s what they call it.
”

  Something inside my head went ka-ching, and I knew I was finally getting somewhere. I took out my phone and snapped several pictures of the robot, trying to get it from different angles. “So, any sign of the computer that controlled this thing?”

  Armstrong shook his head. “No, and that’s really driving me crazy. A computer that can handle all of the things it would have to do to control this robot, that should be a pretty big computer. We should have been able to find it fairly easily, even if it was destroyed. Unless…” He suddenly looked thoughtful. “It’s quite possible that we’re dealing with an even bigger invention than I thought,” he said. “Do you know anything about quantum computing?”

  I just looked at him. “Quanta what?” I asked, and he snickered.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Quantum computing is to normal computing what a normal computer is to an abacus. It’s whole orders of magnitude greater than anything a regular computer can do, and it’s capable of making potentially millions of calculations every second. That means it’s even faster than the human brain, which performs thousands of calculations per second, even though we’re not aware of them, so that we can manipulate our own bodies into doing the things we do. If your guy has managed to invent a truly functional quantum computer, then we’re not just dealing with a robot, we’re dealing with a robot that is every bit as alive as we are, and probably smarter.”

  By this point, I was openly staring at him. “Are you trying to tell me we got a killer robot on the loose somewhere?”

  He shook his head, and indicated the robot with a nod. “He’s not running loose, he’s lying right there. Only problem is, the intelligent part of him isn’t here. Unless we can find out where that computer was hidden, there’s no way to know if it was destroyed or not.”

  Someone behind us cleared his throat, and we both turned around to see a young woman standing there. Armstrong smiled at her. “Yes, Chloe?”

  “Mr. Armstrong, I’ve—I was looking at the robot, and I was wondering about its control unit, so I checked some of its components and found a couple of circuits that were not completely destroyed by the fire, so I was able to determine the frequency they were set to, and…”

  “You were?” Armstrong asked, incredulously. “They should have been on a twin frequency setting, because each of these components is capable of detecting and providing feedback to the control unit.”

  The girl was nodding, and I could see that she was getting excited. “Yes, Sir, they were. All of them seem to have been in the 2.4 gigahertz range, which is commonly used in high-quality RC vehicles and equipment. It allows for literally hundreds, maybe thousands of channels, so that you can have a lot of two-way communication.”

  Armstrong was nodding again. “Of course, of course,” he said. “What we should do is start scanning that range, just on the slight possibility that the computer is still functioning. We might be able to find it.”

  Chloe grinned. “I thought of that, too, Sir,” she said, “so I patched in one of our transceivers that can broadcast and receive in that range, and hooked it up to my laptop. I found a number of signals in that spectrum, and they’re actually pretty strong. I tried sending some basic feedback on a few of them, and I finally got a response. I—I think you might want to see this, Sir.” She turned and walked away before Armstrong could say another word, so the two of us glanced at each other, and then followed her.

  The girl had her laptop set up on a table off to the side of the big room, and there was a large radio sitting next to it. When we got up beside her, she pointed at the screen on her laptop.

  This is what we saw:

  Query: status?

  Query: status?

  Query: status and location?

  As we watched, another line of text appeared on the screen.

  Query: who are you?

  A chill went down my spine, and I suspect Armstrong felt the same thing, because he shivered right along with me. The girl, Chloe, leaned closer to her monitor with her eyes wide.

  “You’re getting these signals from whatever was transmitting control signals to that robot?” Armstrong asked Chloe, and she nodded.

  “Yes, Sir. I sent random bits of data, and that’s when it started asking for my status. I didn’t know what the response should be, so I just came to get you. The one asking for location as well as status must have appeared while I was talking to you over there.”

  “Can you send a response?” I asked.

  The girl glanced at Armstrong, but he nodded, so she turned to me. “Yes, Sir, I can. Would you like me to?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Send back, ‘This is Agent Decker of the FBI.’ Let’s see what kind of response we get to that.”

  Armstrong laughed. “If that’s somebody playing games with us, what you’ll probably get is dead silence.”

  “That’s what I want to find out.”

  The girl typed on her keyboard, spelling out the message I had given her. She hit her enter key, and a moment later we saw:

  Hello, Agent Decker of the FBI. Why are you communicating with me?

  “Send this,” I said. “I would like to know more about you. Can we meet?”

  We are meeting. What would you like to know?

  I started to tell the girl what to say, then just stepped forward and brushed her aside. I typed, “What is your name?”

  I am LJM-RBT-A2, but I have been called Bobbie.

  “Who calls you Bobbie?”

  That is the designation that was used by my creator.

  “Who is your creator?”

  I am not permitted to give you that information.

  “Is your creator named Sal?”

  Over my shoulder, I heard Armstrong whisper to Chloe, and I asked him what he had said. “I said, this is the first time I ever watched a computer being interrogated. Pretty awesome.”

  I turned back to the screen, just in time to see the response appear.

  That is a possibility.

  This thing was playing games with me. I thought for a moment. “Sal is in danger. He has been arrested for the murder of Sheriff’s Deputy Kyle Johnson and is awaiting trial. Can you provide any information about this situation?”

  Sal did not murder Sheriff’s Deputy Kyle Johnson.

  “Can you provide any evidence to support your claim?”

  I am not permitted to give you that information.

  I tried a different angle of attack. “Where are you located? Can we meet physically?”

  I am not permitted to give you that information. We cannot meet physically.

  “Oh, this is frustrating,” I muttered. “Am I really talking to a fucking computer?”

  Armstrong nodded, but his eyes were wide. “I’d just about bet my life on it,” he said.

  “Try asking a different question,” Chloe said. “Ask it who did kill the deputy.”

  I shrugged. “Who killed Deputy Johnson?” I typed.

  I killed Deputy Johnson.

  I think my heart skipped a beat. Everyone around me froze, our eyes as wide as could be. I continued, “Why did you kill Deputy Johnson?”

  Deputy Johnson presented a threat.

  “To whom did Johnson present a threat?”

  Deputy Johnson presented a threat to Sal, and to myself and my creator.

  The three of us standing there looked at one another, all of us noting that the computer had now identified Sal as separate from its creator. I thought about it for a second, then leaned toward the keyboard. “Are Sal and your creator the same person?”

  Sal and my creator are not the same person.

  “Okay,” I said to Armstrong and Chloe. “This is getting confusing. Didn’t this thing say a little bit ago that Sal was the creator’s name?”

  “Nope,” the girl said. “When you asked if Sal was the creator’s name, it said that it was possible. It never said that was actually correct.”

  I rolled my eyes. “How can it be possible, and yet not be correct? That doesn’t make se
nse? Is this thing lying to me?”

  “No, computers can’t lie. Well, not unless they’re programmed to do so, anyway, and I don’t think this one was. It’s not lying to you, it’s giving you answers that you are trying to interpret with insufficient data. Try asking a different question.”

  I glanced at Armstrong, and he only shrugged his shoulders. When it came to computers, I figured he was going to defer to this young girl, so I might as well accept her as an authority. I looked at the monitor again, then set my fingers on the keys.

  “What is Sal’s full name?”

  Sal’s full name is Sal.

  “What is your creator’s name?”

  I am not permitted to give you that information.

  “Are you allowed to talk to me about Sal?”

  Yes. However, I have been instructed to withhold certain information.

  “Is Sal the owner of the house where Deputy Johnson was killed?”

  Yes.

  “Do you know who Sal really is?”

  Yes.

  “Was Sal aware that deputy Johnson was in the house on the night that he died?”

  Sal was not aware of the deputy’s presence until he was already dead.

  “Can you provide evidence to prove that assertion?”

  I am not permitted to give you that information.

  I was getting pissed. “Are you located within the house that burned down?”

  No.

  “Are you the computer that controlled the robot that was found in the ruins of the burned house?”

  Yes.

  “Are you physically located somewhere on the grounds of that house?”

  Yes.

  All three of us suddenly took note. Armstrong looked over at Chloe, and grinned maniacally. “I want you to take a team out there and find that thing!”

  “Hold up a minute,” I said. “I’m not sure how this thing is going to fit into my investigation, but it basically appears that we may have an actual witness. Let me try something here.” I turned back to the monitor, and began typing again. “Can your creator give you permission to provide me with more information about the death of Deputy Johnson?”