EMPIRE: Imperial Police

by Stephanie Osborn

“And I, you, from the same source, sir,” Ashton said with a smile.

  “Heh. You show a great deal of promise, Ashton.”

  “Thank you, sir. I do try very hard. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Likewise. Let’s get started; we don’t want to be late. My sister wouldn’t like it if we hold things up.”

  Dunham led the two men into an observation room. It had a one-way glass window on one wall, looking into what was patently an interrogation room. There was a table with handcuff loops on it, and two straight-backed chairs, one on each side. One was bolted to the floor and appeared somewhat larger than the other.

  “The chair is equipped with sensors, Captain Ashton,” Dunham said, seeing the direction of his gaze. “In essence, it is a highly sophisticated version of what used to be called a lie detector. There will be a technician and a physician in here, monitoring its readouts. We’ll see what comes next.”

  “Gotcha,” Ashton said.

  “Please excuse me,” Dunham said then. “I’ll be back before the interrogation starts, but for now, I must see to Her Majesty.”

  “Your sister,” Ashton murmured the addendum with an impish grin.

  Dunham heard. He shot the briefest of answering grins back at the younger man, then he was gone.

  A few minutes later, another Imperial Guardsman entered, along with a man dressed in a dark suit and carrying a small valise.

  “Hello,” the guardsman said. “I’m Lieutenant Peter Cox, and this is Dr. Morton Galway. You must be the detectives from the Imperial City Police Department.” In the interrogation room, visible behind Cox, two guards brought in Susan Kaplan, clad in a prison coverall, and handcuffed her wrists and ankles to the “lie detector” chair.

  “Yes,” Gorski said. “I’m Stefan Gorski, and this is my protégé, Nick Ashton.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Cox said, and he and Galway shook hands with the investigators. “We’ll be getting under way in a little bit. Oh, and just so you know, when She comes in here, you don’t need to stand. Just greet her quietly. She expects we’ll all be paying attention to the interrogation.” He glanced at a padded chair beside the one Dr. Galway was settling into, and Gorski and Ashton stared at each other.

  “Oh my,” Gorski murmured in dismay. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  Moments later, Dunham was back.

  “It’s all set,” he said. “We’ll be getting started in just a few minutes.”

  Just then, two Imperial Guardsmen entered the interrogation room. One placed a padded chair against the wall beside the door, then they took alert positions in the corner, flanking the padded chair.

  Abruptly, Her Majesty, Empress Ilithyia II, entered the room and sat in the padded chair.

  “Ms. Kaplan. Last Monday night, a young woman in my employ was murdered when she reached her apartment building. We know without any doubt that you were one of the spotters. We got your DNA profile from the gum you discarded in a trash bin on the arcade. Someone is going to come in soon and ask you about your role, who you were working for, and who the shooter was. You will answer these questions or suffer the consequences of your refusal.”

  Ashton was shocked and aghast at the stream of profanity which spewed from Kaplan’s mouth then, all directed at the Empress.

  “Fuck you, bitch! And fuck your little redheaded bitch, too. Friend of yours, huh? Well, too fucking bad. I know my rights, and I’m not going to answer any of your goddamn questions. So you can just go fuck yourself.”

  “Very well.”

  The Empress stood and turned to the Imperial Guard officer standing by the door, who opened and held it for her. Empress Ilithyia II issued orders before she exited the room.

  “Drug the answers out of her, then execute her. I’ll send down an Imperial Decree authorizing it.”

  A horrified Kaplan threw herself against her restraints.

  “WAIT!” she screamed.

  But it was too late to change her mind; the Empress was gone.

  Moments later, the Empress entered the observation room and took her seat directly behind Cox and Galway, in front of Gorski and Ashton.

  “Your Majesty,” the room’s occupants murmured, nodding to her.

  “Please continue,” she responded, waving off their courtesies. “Dr. Galway, I fear your services are required in the interrogation.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Galway said. He caught up the handle of his small valise, rose, and left the room, appearing moments later with the interrogator in the interview room.

  “Lieutenant Cox, are we ready?” the Empress asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. Please notify Captain Mercer to begin the interrogation.”

  The first act of the interrogation was to drug Kaplan. It required two Guardsmen and her shackles to restrain her for the administration, a fact which didn’t surprise Ashton in the least. He wanted to warn them to watch out for her fingernails. She screamed and cursed the entire time.

  In despite of the drugs, however, the interrogation did not go well at all; Kaplan fought it the whole way. The first injection of the truth drugs did nothing – it simply wasn’t strong enough to overcome her willpower.

  The second dose of drug unlocked her mouth, but still did not generate the desired information. Instead, it seemed to ramp up her ability to curse. The profanity which spewed from her mouth in those moments, like some bizarre, fouled artesian well, appalled and dismayed the young investigator. Ashton had never heard anyone make those kinds of statements before.

  And there are some curse words she’s using I’ve never even heard of, he thought, watching. Damn. And I’m no innocent where that’s concerned. I think I’m glad Cal isn’t here to hear all that. She’d blush so red she’d be purple.

  When the second dose still did not elicit the necessary response, the interrogator nodded again at Dr. Galway.

  “There’s no coming back from this one, Captain.”

  “I understand, Doctor. Proceed.”

  Ashton knew what that meant. He was about to see someone lose her mind, though hopefully not until they had some answers from her.

  He felt a slight movement at his side, and glanced down: Gorski’s fingers were wrapped in a death-grip on the arms of his chair, and were turning white with the force.

  Uh-oh, Ashton thought. If that’s Stefan’s reaction to what’s coming, it’s gonna be really, really bad.

  It was.

  Moments later, the key question arose. Kaplan, no longer able to stop herself, finally answered.

  “Who was the shooter for last Monday night’s murder?” Mercer asked.

  “Joey,” a disoriented Kaplan responded.

  “Joey Bronze?”

  “Yes.”

  There it was. The nail in the coffin. His accomplice had fingered Josip Bronsky, a.k.a. Joey Bronze, for the murder of Vasilisa Medved.

  Moments later, she fingered the other accomplice.

  “Who introduced you to Joey Bronze?”

  “Derek.”

  “Did Derek Beckham introduce you to Joey Bronze to be the second spotter last Monday night?”

  “Yes.”

  As the interrogator, Captain David Mercer of the Imperial Guard, gradually drew the details of payment from Kaplan, Ashton watched as the woman grew paler, finally turning an ashen gray. Her dilated eyes rolled wildly, somehow managing to look furiously angry in despite of that – Ashton was sure her real feelings showed there – and spittle dribbled from the corners of her mouth. Her breathing became shallow and irregular.

  Still she continued monosyllabic answers in a gurgling voice, prompted by Mercer’s questions.

  Her lips turned blue, and her body slumped farther and farther in the chair. Abruptly she convulsed briefly, and there was the sudden splatter of viscous fluids impacting something solid. Captain Mercer’s nostrils flared, and his face took on an expression of mild disgust, but he kept going, and Ashton realized that Kaplan had lost control of her bodily functions.
A yellow-brown sludge could now be seen dripping from her chair and running down her legs, puddling beneath her and staining her prison coverall.

  Kaplan managed a couple more coherent answers, then started to babble random nonsense. Within seconds, she was making animal-like grunts, growls, and moans, and all semblance of lucid speech departed…as did the expression in her eyes, which were now dilated so much that the irises could barely be seen.

  Moments later she vomited down the front of her coverall, and her body slumped completely, head lolling, eyes empty of even her anger, her mouth still moving, though nothing came out.

  “That’s all you’re going to get, Captain. She’s gone,” Dr. Galway said.

  “All right, Doctor. Carry out the execution.”

  The doctor administered one more medication to Kaplan, and ten seconds later her body sat limp and white as her vacant, staring eyes glazed over. Galway felt for a pulse, then turned to Mercer.

  “She’s dead.”

  The Empress rose and left the observation room, accompanied by her brother, Major Dunham. Neither of them spoke a word.

  Mere moments later, Ashton’s stomach lurched.

  He leaped to his feet and ran out the door, down to the nearest men’s room. He ducked inside, slammed open the door of an empty stall, and threw up into the toilet.

  Less than a minute later, Gorski entered the restroom. He stood nearby and waited as Ashton purged his belly.

  “Better?” he asked, when Ashton’s retching had ceased.

  “N-not really,” Ashton murmured. “I…there are times, I guess, when having the vivid imagination required to do this job is a curse, not an aid.”

  “There are, indeed,” Gorski agreed. “Imagined yourself inside that head, did you?”

  “Yeah. A little too well, I kind of suspect. I saw this look in her eyes, once she was forced into answering the questions, and…” He shook his head. “I don’t identify with her, please understand, Stefan. I just…”

  “No, I get it,” Gorski murmured, producing a small bottle of water from somewhere and handing it to him. “Here. Rinse your mouth and spit, then sip. No, I’ve been where you are, too, son. When Kaplan reacted like she did to the Empress herself, I knew it was going to be…bad. And I was worried about you, about the Empress, about…well.” The older man sighed. “Some people just don’t seem to understand that the laws apply to them, too. And they almost always end up like… that.”

  “Get used to it, huh?”

  “No. I don’t think you ever get used to it. You just try to realize that they were given a choice, and they made the wrong choice. Every step along their life’s path, they had a choice. And chose wrong. Every. Damn. Time.”

  Ashton could only nod.

  The next morning it was time to interrogate Beckham.

  All the same people were involved, and they followed the same procedure. Gorski and Ashton showed up at the Imperial Park West Palace entrance, Major Dunham was summoned and led them to the same observation room adjacent to the same interrogation room – which had been thoroughly cleaned overnight. Ashton would have hated to have that job. Though, he admitted, somebody has to do it. I wonder if Kaplan had any family.

  Lieutenant Cox and Doctor Galway were there, as well, and everyone greeted one another in a subdued but friendly fashion.

  “We’re gonna give this one a chance to play nice,” Cox told them. “He’s gonna get to watch the recording of the interrogation in immersive VR, then we’re gonna give him the opportunity to cooperate.”

  “That will hopefully help,” Gorski decided.

  “Yeah,” Ashton agreed. “When we busted the three perps, Beckham and Bronsky were relatively quiet, but Kaplan fought like a she-demon.”

  “Is that so?” Cox said, perking up. “Were you one of the arresting officers?”

  “I was, yes.”

  “Nick, here, led the arrest team,” Gorski explained. “For all three perps.”

  “That’s promising,” Dr. Galway finally interjected. He had been listening with some interest, and now chose to speak up. “I’m one of the Palace staff physicians, and occasionally I have to do something like this, but I can’t say I ever like it. I swore to protect life, not take it. That said, when someone has done something as heinous as these three, I tend to view it as protecting other life against the toxicity of these lives.” He shrugged. “It’s still hard. But at least I can go home at night and tell myself I upheld my oath in some measure.”

  Moments later, Beckham was led into the interrogation room and shackled in the “lie detector” chair. Captain Mercer of the Imperial Guard entered.

  “We have opened up one VR channel to you. There is a recording there you may wish to view before your interview.”

  Then he turned and left the room.

  Beckham’s face went blank in the classic non-expression of one in full immersive VR, as he watched the recording.

  When he emerged from VR, he was pale and patently shocked. Beckham stared at the arms of the chair to which he was cuffed in something like dread.

  That was when another Guardsman entered with a padded chair, closely followed by the Empress. She sat and gazed at Derek Beckham for long moments in silence. Seeming taken aback and frightened, he stared back with blanched face and frozen body.

  “Mr. Beckham,” she finally broke the silence.

  “Your Majesty,” Beckham said politely, bowing his head.

  “Mr. Beckham, someone ordered the assassination of one of my employees last Monday as a way of derailing a project of mine. That was an act of treason. Withholding information that could lead to the capture of that person is aiding and abetting treason. Both are capital crimes. You stand accused of being an accessory to that assassination.”

  “But that accusation was obtained under drugs, Your Majesty,” he tried, apparently hoping to cast doubt upon the accusations against him. “It won’t stand up in court.”

  “Correct. It won’t. But you do not stand accused before a lower court, Mr. Beckham. You stand accused before the Throne. I am not constrained by the rules of evidence the Throne has put in place for the lower courts. I must act in the best interests of the Empire as I see them, and your rights before the lower courts do not apply.”

  “…I see, Your Majesty.” He paled still further.

  “Yesterday, Mr. Beckham, Susan Kaplan died in that chair, at my order. We had a positive DNA identification on her from something she discarded during your assistance to Mr. Bronsky. We also have a partial DNA identification on you and Mr. Bronsky, as well as Ms. Kaplan’s answers during her interrogation. And so I offer you a choice. Answer our questions, honestly and completely, and earn some leniency from me, or we will drug the answers out of you and you will die, today, in that chair, as Ms. Kaplan did.”

  “Leniency, Your Majesty?” Beckham’s expression perked up.

  He’s being courteous, I’ll give him that, Ashton thought. Maybe this one will survive a little longer.

  “I have considered the matter carefully, Mr. Beckham. If we in fact determine who gave the order for the assassination, based on your answers and other sources, I will give you an Imperial Pardon for all past crimes save this one, for which I will give you a suspended sentence of death. That would mean, though, that if you are ever again convicted of a felony, anywhere in the Empire, the punishment would be the carrying out of that sentence.”

  “You would release me, Your Majesty?” Beckham seemed shocked.

  “Under those terms, yes, Mr. Beckham.”

  Beckham paused only briefly to consider.

  “...I will answer your questions, Your Majesty.”

  “Honestly and completely, Mr. Beckham.” Empress Ilithyia II was stern.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” He sounded – and looked – sincere.

  “Be certain that you do, Mr. Beckham. Good day.”

  The Empress rose and left the room.

  The interrogation started moments later. But this one had a cooperative s
ubject; Derek Beckham did not want to end his life in the same fashion that his sometime lover had on the previous day. He was being given the chance for a fresh start in exchange for his cooperation, and he intended to fulfil his end of the bargain, Ashton adjudged.

  Within only a few minutes, Captain Mercer had reached what Ashton considered the heart of the interrogation.

  “Was Josip Bronsky the shooter for last Monday night’s murder?”

  “I only know him as Joey Bronze,” Beckham noted with a shrug. So Mercer corrected his mode of address.

  “And Joey Bronze was the shooter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Joey Bronze hired you to be a spotter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Joey Bronze also hire Susan Kaplan to be a spotter?”

  “No, that was my idea. He wanted to make sure his spotters would be careful and not be identified on security recordings, so I suggested a couple would be more obscure.”

  “So you hired Susan Kaplan?”

  “Yes. I introduced her to Joey, and he said that she was ok.”

  “How long have you known Joey Bronsky?”

  “I’m…not sure.” Beckham shrugged again. “Maybe…five years. We hang out at some of the same places.”

  “Have you worked as a spotter for Joey Bronsky before?”

  “Yes. Twice.”

  “Those were murders as well?”

  “Yes.”

  Ashton leaned forward, listening intently, as Mercer continued the questioning.

  “Which murders? That is, who were the victims?”

  “One was an attorney, I think. That was in Imperial Park East, about a year, year and a half back. The other was a hooker. Domino Scarlatti. I think she was blackmailing a john, and he didn’t like it. That was more like two or two and a half years back.”

  Ashton hit the arm of his chair with his fist, producing a soft thud. Then he glanced at Gorski, who was watching him, rather than the interrogation. Gorski leaned forward and murmured in his protégé’s ear.

  “Looks like you nailed it, kiddo. That whole profile with associated cold cases was on the money.”