EVO Universe 1: The First (17 page)

Sophia bowed her head looking at her feet, knowing what Charles was leading onto, the night where everything changed for her. In her gut she knew that whatever was happening to her had to do with the sci-fi assassins who murdered her husband. That everything leading up until now had to do with something Robert knew, saw, or had.

“I was trying to avoid contacting people for help,” she sighed, “But I’m not getting anywhere at this point, clearly these people I’m looking for are military or mercenary…I need someone from that world. I think I know who to talk to, problem is I’m pretty damn sure he’s not going to want to talk to me.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Armitage and Mercer sat in the video room eating diner, while watching video footage of Sophia Dennison from almost four years ago within the bank from when she opened the joint checking account. When she withdrew money from the ATM the day after her husband’s murder, driving through the tollbooth heading to Oklahoma, and when she checked into the hotel at the airport. On the table next to Armitage’s Big Mac were grizzly photos of the late Lieutenant Robert Matheson, reports taken from the crime scene, and a disc with video footage of Sophia’s interrogation after her arrest in Oklahoma. Mercer munched on his big salad with a sour look on his face, it was unclear if it was because he had to eat rabbit food while his partner gorged away on fast food, or that they were watching footage from a much-closed case.

“Tell me why again we’re looking at evidence from an open and shut case from four years ago?” Dustin finally indicated why he had a sour puss.

“Know thy enemy,” Mark recited.

“You start with that Sun Tzu shit, I’m gonna hit you with my big salad,” Dustin warned.

“It baffles me how you became an F.B.I agent,” Mark returned before proceeding to point out why he was going through old files and footage, “Under almost sixteen hours of on-going interrogation she couldn’t give account for withdrawing the money from the ATM, or checking into the hotel.”

Dustin dryly volleyed back, “She couldn’t give account for murdering her husband either.”

“But she did admit that her husband and her did make love that night,” Mark threw out while munching on a fry.

“Big whoop,” Dustin snorted as he mixed his big salad into the balsamic vinegar dressing, “DNA and fluid proved that, like the DNA and finger prints on the wedding knife.”

“Yes, and the video footage, and the eye witnesses,” Mark noted while driving his thought home, “But through her entire interrogation her story never changed…she kept saying she didn’t remember. All that damning evidence and her story never changed.”

To which Dustin reminded him, “Reports from the psychologist who examined her stated she could have went into a psychotic episode, a blood rage where one doesn’t remember anything.”

“But the forensics report said that she took her time killing her husband,” Mark fired back, “That it looked like she picked spots on his body to stab a total of forty-one times…that he basically died an agonizing death while bleeding out.”

“Your point?” Dustin asked believing Mark’s statement brought home that Sophia Dennison was a psychotic bitch.

“First of all she’s a neurosurgeon,” he said wagging a fry in the air pulling his thoughts together, “If this was all about money, she could have thought of a million other ways to kill him without being suspected. Why murder him in such a sadistic barbaric way knowing she would be hunted down and caught? You don’t have to be a master criminal to know this was pure amateur bullshit. This is something you do if you want to get caught…or someone is setting you up.”

“No other DNA, foreign fibers, or finger prints were found at the scene or on the murder weapon,” Dustin recited the case files in a zombie like tone, “No sign of forced entry, and no footprints from another party to suspect foul play from someone else. They even checked for foreign footprints and vehicles tracks outside the premise just to be sure, which is a lot considering they had the only possible suspect in custody.”

“Then explain to me this,” Mark went back to the footage of when she walked into the bank, “The defense’s key argument at the time Dennison claimed to have opened her private checking account. Dennison keyed out at 12:05 PM for lunch and went over to the Subway for her usual six-inch Teriyaki chicken on a honey roll with Doritos Ranch Potato chips and a bottle of water. The security cameras were not working for some reason that day, but two of the food prep people and the cashier came forward to testify that she was there, not to mention she had a receipt for the transaction with the time stamped on it, which she kept in her car. She had her lunch on the front lawn of the hospital, and then punched back into the hospital with her security key card at 12:45 PM. The time stamp here on the video shows that she walked into the bank of 12:15 PM and didn’t leave till 12:38 PM.”

“Again…your point?” Dustin no longer in the mood to play Law and Order.

“She didn’t take her car with her. Cameras showed it still in its parking spot. Her bank is on the other side of town a good forty-five minutes in traffic. How did she get there and back in that short amount of time?” asked Mark knowing it was impossible for her to do.

“Uh…taxi?” returned Mercer.

“Not one cab driver in the whole of Houston could confirm that they drove her to the bank and back on that day,” Mark fired back.

Not waiting for Dustin to attempt to refute his building theory on the case, Mark pulled out a report from the Subway restaurant slapping it down in front of him, “This report says that the security cameras were checked on January 15, 2005 for maintenance. They were up to code, three weeks before this incident. Two of them were only a year old. What are the odds that
all
six cameras
fail
to record the day this woman is obviously in
two
places at the same time during her lunch break? On top of that, how much did they say she transferred between accounts online from her computer the night she murdered her husband?”

Dustin sighed grabbing a file to confirm, “2.9 million…”

“Dustin...Federal law states anything transferred over ten thousand dollars is a red flag,” Mark reminded him, “
no
one
is allowed to transfer that amount of money online, even between their own accounts. You
have
to go into a bank to make that type of transfer. And she did this with a regular Dell laptop? She’s got a Master’s degree from Texas Southwestern for Neuroscience, not a hacking degree from the Masters of Deception. So how did she become Jonathan James in one night? And why wasn’t this office tapped?”

Dustin shrugged, “It was, but it was clear that this was a case of domestic foul play, not drugs or terrorism. As you said, she somehow managed to transfer the money between accounts in the same bank; it wasn’t wired overseas. Based on that it was a State case not Federal.”

“Dustin…this woman somehow broke through her bank’s firewall and transferred over two million dollars online with a laptop,” Mark glared back at his friend, “No one thought to bring this woman in and find out how she did it?! How big of a red flag needs to go up to know that there is something
seriously
friggin wrong with this whole case, and it’s not from a couple of days ago?!”

Mark summated his final point, “At the prison when she resurrected the first time she repeated over and over again that she remembered. Call me crazy, but I think she remembered what happened that night, I think she remembered who really murdered her husband.”

“Interesting theory,” Dustin finally nodded in agreement, “Which we’ll never know unless we can find her, and bring her in to ask.”

Dustin reached over to grab some of Mark’s fries when he gets his hand smacked hard, “I told you about reaching for my food, get your own.”

“You know Bethany’s got me on this damn diet because of my cholesterol,” Dustin pleaded, “I just wanted a couple.”

“Not my problem,” Mark said denying his friend while stuffing a hand full of fries in his mouth.

The telecom went off in the office stopping the conversation of stealing food as Mark tapped on the answer button, which automatically switched it to speaker mode as he munched away on his fries, “Speak.”

“Sir,” said the agent on the other end, “We’ve located Sophia Dennison.”

Those four magical words almost caused Armitage to choke on his fries as he tried to speak with a full mouth.

Dustin just wagged a finger at him, “See…God don’t like ugly.”

Mark ignored his partner’s stupid comment, “Where?” He demanded to know getting to his feet while looking for his jacket.

“She’s at Dr. Charles Hampton’s home, agents IDed her from the video footage at the Martin’s house,” returned the agent, “Apparently she’s made contact with him.”

“Is she still there?” Dustin demanded to know.

“Yes sir,” acknowledged the agent, “But the agents in the field just indicated that she’s leaving to see someone else.”

“Who?” Dustin asked.

“She didn’t say,” answered the agent.

“Tell them to continue surveillance on her,” Mark instructed, “And to not engage her under any circumstances, is that clear?”

“Clear sir, will maintain surveillance,” confirmed the agent before cutting off.

Armitage and Mercer looked at each other with some form of relief.

“Well at least we now know where she is,” Dustin sighed.

“Yeah,” Mark added a heavier sigh knowing a bigger problem was ahead of them, “Now we just have to figure out how we’re going to bring her in.”

“Yeah…
you
think about that,” Dustin having screamed from the mountain top this question, decided to leave to his partner to figure out.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

11:15 PM, the constant ringing of his door bell forced former Marine Second Lieutenant Kenneth Scott to walk out of his den and find out who was stupid enough to come to his door this late in the night when his children were in bed. The Lieutenant finally home after serving three tours in Iraq was trying his best to assimilate himself back into regular society. Although he was one of the lucky ones to return physically unscathed; the horrors of war ravaged him in other ways; tonight was one of the few nights he was able to sit quietly and feel at peace. Whoever was disrupting it would find him completely pissed off when he came to the door.

“Ken…who is it?” asked his wife Elizabeth with irritation at the foot of the upstairs steps of their two floor house.

“I’m about to find out,” shot back Ken, “Go back to bed.”

She ignored his order; it was hard living with Kenneth since his return. She understood the duties and burdens that went with being a soldier’s wife; enduring the unknown possibility of being a widow with children, or the wife of a cripple was not easy after almost three tours. Sadly, although spared the first two, the Kenneth that returned was not the man she married almost six years ago. The body had returned intact, but the soul never made it back, and it was marching their marriage to the grave as well.

“Who is it?” Scott barked standing at the door, not bothering to open it.

The person on the other side did not bother to answer as they continued to lay into the buzzer. He reached into the silver chrome umbrella stand pulling out the jet-black Louisville Slugger ball bat among the row of umbrellas as his military instinct took over.

He asked again a bit more forceful, “I said who the fuck is it?”

“Ken…” Elizabeth emitted a nervousness feeling that something was not right.

“Liz, I said go back to the bedroom…now,” he snapped at her not in the mood to deal with both her and the asshole disturbing their household this late at night.

She refused to move, just as the person on the other side refused to answer and stop ringing the bell; having reached his limit Lieutenant Scott flew the door open to come face to face with the intruder on his doorstep. A very tall figure in a jet black hooded Gothic like midriff jacket, which covered their face, in a white tank top shirt underneath; blue jean like leggings and black and white Converse sneakers stood at his door. A great uneasiness came over him as he gripped the bat in his hand.

“You want to tell me, why you’re on my damn door step ringing my bell?” he barked again demanding an answer from the hooded person at his door.

“Long time no see Ken,” rang out a familiar voice from the person who was obviously a female at his door, and even though Ken’s face read irritation, a cold chill ran down his spine as he clutched his bat tighter.

The height and build threw him off, not to mention he could barely see her face under the oversized hood, but there was no mistaking the voice.

“Sophia?” he asked with a quiver of rage in his voice.

She lifted her head up so that he could see her face in the porch light. He could feel his body trembling uncontrollably fighting the temptation to take her head off with the bat in his hand and beat her to death on his porch.

“Stopped by to see how the family was doing…and to talk,” she said ending the awkward silence.

“You’re supposed to be…,” he began to say.

“Dead?” Sophia finished his sentence confirming that the Intel from almost five days ago was not true, “Yeah I been dodging that bullet a lot lately…but I didn’t come here for small talk…I came here for answers…I want to know who murdered my husband.”