The Voss Coin

by A B Alexander

  “Jim, please fast forward at five times the normal speed. I’ll let you know when to stop,” Kevin instructed. The video began to run in high-speed mode. Kevin’s eyes flickered from screen to screen, searching for the anomaly. He knew what he was looking for. The time display ticked down rapidly; within ten minutes they had covered fifty minutes of footage. Carla said the men entered an hour before I arrived, so they should be coming into view any second.

  He raised his level of awareness.

  “Slow it down to double-speed please.”

  Jim made a few more quick clicks and the video instantly slowed. Kevin shifted his full attention to the lobby entrance.

  Any second those motherfuckers are going to be in view.

  Suddenly, both screens went black. Only the top right corner still displayed the moving time. “What the fuck!” Jim exclaimed and began to type wildly on the keyboard.

  “Don’t worry, gentlemen, we have backups.”

  A minute later, the backup videos popped up on both screens. Jim fast-forwarded the videos at maximum speed. Again, both monitors went blank at the same time period.

  “What the hell? Seems like we got hacked or someone on the inside deleted the footage,” Jim said nervously.

  Kevin shook his head and exhaled sharply, he had to act disappointed.

  “Please fast forward until the images resume, let’s see where it picks up,” he suggested. Two minutes later, both screens flickered to life and Jim slowed the video to normal speed. In the lobby, Kevin noticed the Chinese couple surrounded by the sea of designer shopping bags. They were walking toward the elevator; he and Marcel were already out of view.

  We were probably already in the parking area by then.

  He quickly shifted his gaze to the other screen. He could see Carla wiping her tearfully bulging eyes with a napkin. Both videos resumed normal footage only after he was already out of view.

  Meticulous bastards. So, they don’t want me locked up or dead. They wanted to punish me with the Mai scandal going public and create a downward corrective move for the VC price, to add to its long-term credibility.

  He took great pleasure in knowing that he’d foiled their plans, although it came at a bloody cost. Also, with no video evidence, he was in the clear.

  “OK, Jim. Thanks for your help, I’m going to leave you guys to check what’s happening with your systems,” he said politely.

  They shook hands and he left the security room together with Marcel, who was now growing increasingly suspicious. Once they were beyond earshot of the security room, Kevin said, “Thank you for your efforts, but I’m terribly disappointed. I’m going to have to live with this for the rest of my life without getting closure for this senseless act.” He studied Marcel’s darting blue eyes; he wasn’t fully on board. He would have to be more convincing and direct. “I suggest you arrange for housekeeping to discover the body and call in authorities. Don’t ask Carla to do it because she saw me on the fortieth floor and I don’t want her to be questioned. In any case, she won’t say a word. If I’m in any way linked to this suicide, it’s going to be all over the news and really bad publicity for both of us.”

  He paused and whistled under his breath.

  “Marcel, suicides happen all the time in high-end hotels. I don’t want it to ruin our hard work, right my friend?”

  Marcel hesitated, feeling coerced, but eventually nodded in agreement. Kevin sensed that Marcel knew that he didn’t kill Mai. So he had no doubt that Marcel would put his hotel career ahead of any civil duty. He’d stepped on too many living bodies to get to his position, no corpse was going to derail him.

  Kevin hugged him tightly. “Thank you, my friend. I’ll see you soon. I’m going to leave via the parking lot. Better to avoid the hotel’s cameras at this stage.”

  They shook hands once more, and Kevin charged for the exit.

  The streets were already in full morning bustle. He looked up at the hotel’s dramatic limestone and concrete exterior. A void feeling rumbled inside him; something was amiss. He walked with his head down, battling paranoia.

  BOOOMMM!!

  He dropped to the floor.

  It sounded like a concrete slab from the hotel’s exterior fell onto the pavement behind him. People yelled and shrieked in horror, running past him. After a few seconds, he got up slowly and dusted himself off. A crowd was building up behind him. Police and ambulance sirens blared wildly, weaving through the traffic. He quickly trotted over to the area of the crowd to see what was the commotion. The crying and shrieking got louder as he neared the scene. He stood on his toes to rise above the bobbing heads. He managed to catch a glimpse. Her black apron and plump, bloody body lay sprawled on the cold, hard pavement. Blood was oozing from every orifice, creating a red circular parameter of at least a ten-meter radius. He recoiled in disgust, understanding exactly what was amiss. It hit him the moment he saw her bloodied corpse. If the Et Decem hacked the hotel video, it meant that they saw everything. They knew that he spoke with Carla and that she saw them enter. Her fate was sealed, they never left any loose ends.

  His thoughts immediately shifted to Marcel, who didn’t know any details and didn’t see the murderers enter, so he presumed his safety was not an issue. However, an on-site suicide and a jumper on the same day was going to be public news for sure. Marcel no longer had a reason not to rat him out to the police.

  He won’t do that. He just saw what happened to Carla. He’s not dumb enough to think it was coincidence. He’s going to be afraid to talk. Besides that, putting my name in the mix is going to make the media attention that much bigger. He’s going to want to avoid that. I don’t have a choice but to trust him.

  He briskly walked away from the gruesome scene and looked up at the clear blue sky. “Another fucking horrific meaningless death,” he said out loud in anguish.

  I have to do something to end this. How many is it going to take?

  21

  The Call

  “Good morning, Mr. Voss, I think you already know why I’m calling.” Agent Walker’s smug voice woke him up. He looked across at Lucy, her face utterly at peace brought on by the clutches of deep sleep. It was still completely dark in the room.

  “What time is it?” he said groggily.

  “It’s five 5:30 a.m. You have thirty minutes to meet me at the station. We’re going to do this at the 17th Precinct, so you have enough time to get here. I know you have small children and this is also going to be an uncomfortable situation for your wife. However, if you’re even more than one minute late, we’re going to have to meet you at home.”

  Instantly, Kevin’s fight-or-flight instincts kicked in. Even before Walker was done speaking, he was already on his feet. He scooped his hand over his mouth and whispered into the mobile, “I’ll be on time.”

  Before hanging up, Walker warned him, “Don’t speak with anybody about this, so we can both avoid the media circus until your court hearing.”

  He could feel his blood boiling. Marcel had flipped on him. If Walker was talking about a court hearing, they were going to charge him.

  He ran to the closest and threw on a sporty tracksuit with a pair of white Nike sneakers. He gently kissed Lucy on her floral-scented forehead. She would never forgive him; his marriage was over.

  All good things come to an end, even life itself. Nothing is forever.

  The thought did little to comfort him, and tears welled up in his eyes. He would miss their life together, what a fool he’d been.

  Pull yourself together, man, now is no time to crack.

  He hurried to the boys’ room and kissed them lightly. So many special and beautiful memories flooded his mind. Life is a wonderful thing, and you see its true appreciation when the things you take for granted are gone. He felt it now more than ever. He stormed out of the apartment.

  Precisely twenty-five minutes later, he walked into the 17th Precinct of the NYPD. A chubby young blonde was playing on her mobile and sipping a large Starbucks coffee behind th
e shabby front desk. It was serenely quiet, officers gradually filtering in for the morning shift.

  “Good Morning, Officer, I’m here to see Agent Walker from the FBI.”

  She promptly stopped playing and laid her mobile on the table, eye-balling him like he was a convicted killer.

  “Voss is here for Agent Walker,” she said into her portable radio.

  “You may take a seat, sir,” she said, pointing to the plastic chairs to his right. He slumped down on the swing-like chair, hunched over, elbows on knees. He watched the officers arrive one by one and greet each other happily. Some were carrying orange juice, large coffees, and the proverbial Dunkin Donuts. They slapped each other on the back and laughed heartily. Topics of conversation ranged from the Yankees game last night to new series on Netflix.

  It’s a surreal situation.

  Walker strode briskly toward him, his cheap, shiny grey polyester suit, a half a size too small, giving him an even bulkier appearance.

  “Good morning, please come with me,” he ordered in an authoritative and slightly aggressive tone. He led him to a bland fluorescent-lit room. It contained three metal chairs and a small metal table. Kevin sat down nervously. Walker opened a large file, flipping through the pages like a cash-counting machine.

  “Before we get started, would you like your lawyer to be present?”

  Kevin looked down at his knees, he needed to think fast. His lawyer was high-profile; if he entered the precinct this morning the media would be alerted.

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  Walker raised his eyebrows in surprise, whistled out loud, and leaned back in the metal chair. “You know exactly why you’re here. So let’s start with you telling me what the hell is going on?”

  Kevin stared ahead blankly as if Walker was transparent.

  “I have no idea why I’m here,” he shot back.

  Walker clasped his hands and leaned in toward him, lowering his voice. “Let me make this easy for you, I’ll tell you what I do know. According to preliminary crime-scene investigations, there is reason to believe this wasn’t a suicide but rather first-degree murder.” He paused for a moment, scrutinizing Kevin for a reaction. He got nothing besides a stone-wall expression.

  “In any case, we are waiting for the autopsy results. I have a reputable witness saying that you were the last person to leave the victim’s hotel room. We also know that you were having an affair with the deceased. So there is a clear motive. Do you have anything to add regarding these facts?”

  “No.”

  Walker adjusted his suit, his muscular biceps visible through the thinly stretched jacket.

  “Did you kill Ms. Mai Yoshida?”

  “NO!”

  Walker closed the file and stood up.

  “Great, we’re done here. We have more than probable cause to believe that you’re involved in the murders of both Ms. Mai Yoshida and Mrs. Amalia Suarez. You’re going to be booked and detained today. Your lawyer and family will be notified of your arrest.”

  Walker turned around and headed for the door. Kevin’s stomach churned. Maybe the Et Decem preferred to frame him and put him away for life. Behind bars he would be helpless to protect his family and they could use that as leverage to get him to do what they wanted. It seemed too far-fetched, in prison his abilities to do any job would be severely hampered. No, they still needed him. Before Walker reached the door, he called out.

  “Wait!”

  Walker stopped in his tracks, slowly turning around.

  “No need to notify my lawyer or my family.”

  Walker stormed toward the table and stood over him menacingly.

  “I’ll tell you what I think. I’ve been doing this a long time, so generally my gut instincts are right. The last time when I was at your apartment, I knew there was information that you held back regarding the murder of Mrs. Amalia Suarez. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when your name came up again today. However, my gut’s telling me that you’re not a cold-blooded killer. You’re mixed up in something that’s way over your head. If you don’t talk, I can’t help you, and you’re going to go away for a very long time.”

  Kevin remained emotionless, he had nothing to say.

  Walker swiveled toward the exit and said over his shoulder, “You’re making a huge mistake.” He left and shut the door.

  Kevin sat alone in the cold interrogation room. It was like an operating room, void of emotion or sympathy. He hoped to God that he had done the right thing—the price of being wrong was worse than death. A few minutes later, the old metal door clanked open and in walked a bald, mean-looking African American officer. A mountainous man, he ducked beneath the upper door-frame panel.

  “Stand up and put your hands behind your back,” he barked.

  Kevin stood up meekly and duly obliged. The officer slapped a pair of cold handcuffs on him, carefully adjusting the tension until he heard an audible yelp from Kevin. For the next two hours, he was passed around like a rag doll. He had his mug shot and fingerprints taken, shoelaces stripped, and all personal items removed.

  “Take off your clothes and underwear,” the mountain instructed him, slipping on a pair of blue latex gloves. He slowly removed his clothes and hung them up on a small hook on the wall. He stood in a bright cubicle, no larger than a single-person dressing room.

  “Turn around with your hands up and legs spread,” the mountain commanded.

  He slowly turned around and faced the wall.

  “Lift your right leg up and then your left.”

  Kevin lifted his bare foot off the cold concrete. The mountain quickly slid his hand along his anus, ensuring that he wasn’t hiding any contraband or weapons.

  “OK, get dressed and come with me,” the mountain said, throwing him an orange jumpsuit. He quickly slipped on the clothes and trudged behind him like a zombie, oblivious to his surroundings. He was in a daze, unable to shake himself awake from the nightmare.

  Humiliated and dehumanized, he’d fallen lower than he ever imagined. His thoughts constantly circled back to Lucy.

  What is she going to think when she hears on TV that I was having an affair with Mai and that I’m suspected of killing her?

  The thought physically pained him. She was going to suffer. Their family would be broken apart and he hoped dearly that she wouldn’t separate him from the kids. He thought about his children. The last time he looked at his watch, it was 7:30 a.m. The boys would be at school already, happily going about their daily lives, completely oblivious. If he was going to serve serious time, what the hell would he tell them? The inevitable media circus would bring shame and ridicule for his family. There would be long-term implications for his children. Pangs of guilt and burning self-rage dominated his thoughts.

  Maybe I was better off dead. At least I would’ve avoided ruining my family. I should’ve swallowed the fucking pill.

  He kept walking mechanically, his conscience elsewhere. He heard a mixture of BZZZZZ and shouts of CLEAR as they crossed several thick metal doors. Suddenly CLANK, the mountain slammed the barred cell door shut and pulled out a set of jingling keys. He promptly locked the door and left. Kevin could hear his shoes squeaking off the smooth surface.

  The room was a standard six-by-eight cell with solid walls. A dingy single bed was pushed up against the wall, illuminated by flickering fluorescent lights. A perfectly symmetrical concrete box with sharp corners, designed to take away more than your liberty. Although his luxury apartment was just a few blocks away, it felt worlds apart. His life of privilege was over. He lowered himself onto the bed and crawled into a ball, plagued by insecurity. He was no longer the master of his own destiny; it would be determined for him. On the one hand it felt liberating, on the other it scared the shit out of him. He was in the clutches of the protracted, painful U.S. legal system. He heard screams, the rattling of bars, and wild screeches emanating up and down the corridor. All the pleas for help fell on deaf ears, and no one came to check what was going on. He closed his eyes, trying t
o sleep, to escape reality and block out the sounds.

  Everybody here is suffering and in shit. If they’d just shut the fuck up. Why make the experience worse by screaming?

  He drifted in and out of consciousness, awoken intermittently by the sound of jangling keys, metal trays sliding on the floor, and shouts of “food.” He remained motionless, reflecting on his situation. The most frightening aspect was that he wasn’t sure of anything. Would they charge him with murder? Was he being framed? What would the autopsy indicate? His mind raced around the probability of these questions. It didn’t look good; fear and anxiety drained his last bits of energy. He closed his eyes and fell into a slumber.

  22

  The Devil’s Redemption

  “Mr. Voss,” he heard someone call out, followed by the familiar jittery sound of jangling keys. He didn’t bother to open his eyes.

  “No food, I’m not hungry.”

  He expected to hear the metal food tray sliding on the concrete floor, but instead he heard footsteps approaching the bed. He immediately sat up, reclining against the wall.

  “Get up and let’s go, we need to talk.” Agent Walker sounded frustrated. He stood up groggily, and Walker slapped him a pair of cold cuffs. Without a word, he hobbled behind him. Dehumanized, degraded. He trailed him quietly through the chilling sound of rattling cages and wretched screams. Glancing briefly into the cells, he noticed that many of these men were barely past their twentieth birthday.

  Most of them are just kids that got embroiled in petty street crime to make ends meet. They’re going to get the thick oppressive boot of the law. There is no compassion.

  It was well beyond nightfall, the corridors and holding cells illuminated by tiring fluorescent lights.

  They entered the interrogation room. Kevin sagged into the same seat as earlier; he knew the drill. Walker dropped a thick blue case file on the metal table and paced around the room pensively like a tiger sizing up its prey. After more than a minute of silence, he finally spoke.