JUSTICE REBORN (A Charlie Taylor Novel Book 1) (9 page)

I’m on my way to the Ritz to meet Wes. And
yes, I’m late.

This hotel is now confirmed as the location
of the fifth serial killing.  Although I am sprinting from one place to
another, I feel better. This is what I need:  a full workload, a challenge,
pressure and the company of a team. It’s late in the day. I should have been
there hours ago.

  Wes and I worked numerous homicides;
we’re close for various reasons, but I think he is most grateful for one
unofficial sting. Early in Wes’s career, his good looks and a few too many
beers resulted in an affair. He wasn’t married at the time, but Mrs. Alice
Price, wife of the Chair of the Police Commission was. At first Wes enjoyed the
excitement of an affair with an older woman and the attention of someone placed
so close to the top of the pole. The crash came when Alice declared her love
and her plan to divorce her husband; she was adamant. My stunned partner
pleaded for help.

 I literally forced Alice to meet me, my
excuse: I felt obligated to warn her about Wes. I didn’t give her a chance to
decline but launched right into my pitch. Wes was AC/DC and rather reckless
with his sex life, AIDS certainly a possibility for any partner. She became
outraged and proclaimed Wes had nothing to do with her, and, in any case, she
didn’t believe me.

  I played my trump card and dumped the
pictures on the table. There was a naked Wes and another man as his company,
also without clothes. Each picture presented a different position or a
different angle, the light and focus not great, but the situation was obvious.I
pressed. “My recommendation get a blood test as soon as possible. For your
husband, best to wait to see if it will be necessary, and be grateful if you
are not infected. These pictures and the enclosed note warned about unprotected
sex with this detective. I think the anonymous sender is the other man in the
picture, angry because Wes found a younger man.”

 By the next day she refused to answer any
of Wes’s calls; he was delighted. It only cost him a few hundred dollars for my
friend to doctor a series of photos.

Of course our relationship goes beyond this
incident; he was a real strength in the weeks after the accident which killed
my family. Millie, his wife, who was in our car when the crash happened, is
still wrestling with depression. Wes rarely talks about her problems. In the
days after the accident, Wes, teaming with Monk, took charge. Between the two
of them they looked after the myriad of details associated with these types of
bloody disasters.

Wes is the lobby waiting. The place
presents as you would expect from a five-star hotel, a large rotunda, opulent
with thick carpeting, many plants, bright lights and well-dressed people,
representing a contemporary cross section of the affluent.

 In the lobby is a huge fountain, spraying
water about 20 feet in the air, the water falling back into a circular basin
filled with various marble nymphs, a centerpiece for the hotel. There are
numerous staff ready to be of assistance, adroitly located to be available but
not obtrusive, most wear the brilliant gold hotel vests. At the north end is a
bank of elevators all with clear glass facing the lobby, providing a view as
you ascend to your floor, not for the vertically challenged. Not your first
choice as a murder scene but intriguingly close to the location where Horny
Harry dumped his last victim.

The forensic team is upstairs scouring the
room, the hallway, the elevator and the stairs. At this stage the crime scene
is prime. The victim will not run away but once the body has been moved and all
the evidence gathered, the scene is lost forever. We only have one opportunity
to assess the location as it now exists, hence the extreme time and care with
the scene.

Wes leads me over to the reception desk,
and I meet the clerk who had registered the woman. He is a young man,
well-scrubbed and meticulous in dress and decorum. He has been through this
before and has his delivery ready.

 “I don’t remember a lot about the woman;
she was tall and rather robust, not fat but muscular. She wore an enormous,
floppy hat so it was difficult to see her face. Dark hair, again the hat
covered a lot; I looked over our security tape and this didn’t help very much.
She said she wanted a room on the second floor close to the elevator because
her hip made walking a problem, and she registered for four days.”

I reviewed the tapes last night, and he’s
right the hat is an excellent cover, I ask. “She paid with cash; is this a
little unusual?”

 “No, it happens often enough; no alarm
bells rang.  I’ve been thinking about the registration, and there are a couple
of very minor points. She did have a cold, you know a raspy throat with a deep
voice and was wearing beautiful white cotton gloves, which almost hid the fact
she had ugly hands.”

“Ugly hands?”

“My wife and I are both hand models. When
an advertising picture displays a restricted view, you know just the hands, the
hand you are looking at could be mine or my wife’s. This happens for example
when it’s a cream or lotion commercial. I’m very conscious of hands, their
size, condition and shape. I pay attention, and the lady’s gloves could not
hide her rather thick or misshapen hands.”

The clerk keeps on talking, but he is
repeating and rearranging the same details: the hat, the build, the voice, and
the hands. I'm no longer listening; I’ve absorbed the details, nothing
computes, time to move.

Wes thanks the man and we take the elevator
to the second floor. The murder scene is in a room almost directly across from
the bank of elevators; the forensic team is finishing up. The killers were
thorough, and there is not much to be gained from this scene. Something does
bother me about the scene, as I said I’m great when it comes to detail, and
something doesn’t fit.

 “Wes, do you happen to have the final
recording the prostitute made back to the agency?”

“Sure, you want to hear it?”   I nod and he
starts the tape. As we stand in the hallway, it’s a female voice, not
frightened, not stressed, in fact sounding very routine.

“Hi gang, this Sherry, I’m in room 272
at the Ritz Hotel and should be here for a few days; everything is AOK.”

Wes explains. “The AOK is the code they
use; this means she feels absolutely safe.”

I’m really not listening to Wes and am not
satisfied. “Again, play it again.” We listen again and then the anomaly strikes
home.

“Goddamn it Wes, get the tech team back
here. This is crazy. Didn’t you hear she said room 272? And we’ve been
analyzing room 212 where the body was found.  How the hell did she get from
room 272 to room 212?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head in
disgust. “Shit!  You’re right. Goddamn it. I missed it. Suppose this two room
routine was part of the other four killings, and I missed it each goddamn
time.”

Wes and I stare at each other, both
probably thinking about the same issues. Do we have two murder scenes? Why kill
in 272 and then move the body to 212? Why risk moving a body through a busy
hotel hallway? And, I’m sure when we check this will be the pattern in the
other four killings, a killing room, and a dumping room.  This doesn’t make
sense. 

This couple is too goddamn smart. How in
the hell are they destroying all the forensic evidence? Why two rooms? How are
they deceiving the prostitutes into thinking they’re safe? After four
well-advertised hotel killings, they’re still able to deceive a fifth victim.

Jesus Christ, I’m back.

Now she understood why they called him:
Crazy Charlie.

Pat Holdner, the advance person for Sector
14, worked most of the weekend except for the one evening to attend the Spring
Dance. She enjoyed the dance and the opportunity to reconnect with friends and
colleagues. The preposterous episode had been Charlie and how he forced the
huge sergeant to his knees, the screaming an extreme and disconcerting
spectacle; Emma didn’t deserve that intrusion. Everyone said he was the best
homicide detective in the Sector, but she didn’t understand why Chief Duncan
allowed this behavior in his Division.

At Fort Green Prison, Pat and her advance
team slogged their way through the day. The old building and associated
infrastructure made preparations difficult because even with all the advanced
technology they still needed considerable cabling, sound proofing and a
multitude of other modifications.

 Tomorrow she planned to debrief the death
row convicts, all options open for discussion and legal requirements satisfied.
The convicts were already knowledgeable, thanks to a grapevine, which was
surprisingly accurate as well as swift. An insidious jailhouse rumor worried
Pat: no death row processing this week.

It was near the end of the day, and Pat was
impatiently waiting. All the concrete, all the security gates, all the guards,
all the rifles, and all the buzzers left her anxious and ready to leave at the
end of the day. Even the brightly painted walls couldn’t stave off depression.
Someone had dimmed the corridor lights, the dull ambiance another downer.

John burst into the room, apologizing for
being late. John Hellson was Deputy Warden and now operational control for the
Death Row project. Pat decided to concentrate her efforts on him and hope this
would create buy-in and fill the existing leadership vacuum. Uncle Willie had
forced the issue, obstinate and uncooperative, not the ideal Warden for such a
pioneering process.  She started slowly, wanting to ensure she didn’t overpower
John and cause more tension.

 “John, I’ve a video of an actual S3
interrogation in progress. But first a few comments: you should understand all
Watchers are given a thorough orientation. Time is the issue so we want to
ensure they stay focused and not get carried away with seeing this technology.
Even after orientation sessions it’s quite common for people to be jolted when
the first live feed plays on the screen, but they are pressed to make quick
decisions. The 45-minute clock is always with us.”

“I’m still struggling, trying to visualize
the entire scene.”

“Patience. I know it’s difficult.   All the
Watchers are in a soundproof room with a large wall mounted screen plus smaller
individual monitors. Each screen is connected to the memory scanning process
and displays the results. In addition, there are a series of individual
switches to allow the Watcher to signal the Medical Techs; they signal to move
the probe further into the future or to step back in time. Last, there is a
unique audio link between the Medical Techs and Watchers; this allows direct
verbal communication, if required.

The decisions are based on the scenes they
see playing out in front of them. When the technician positions the probe and
activates the scan, the contents are played out on the individual screens for
each Watcher. The decision becomes: what time frame is being reflected with this
memory stream? Can they recognize this segment of the convict’s history?

 All Watchers don’t necessarily agree on
the time frame being displayed. In these situations, the Historian’s opinion is
usually the critical factor. He has undergone extensive training, including all
aspects of our history from women’s fashions to sports statistics, and
typically can quickly recognize the time period of any scene.

A few points to be aware of: first, even if
all Watchers agree to a move, the playback cannot be stopped instantaneously.
Think of a car moving a full speed. Even when you decide to brake, it takes
some time to stop, this along with the technician’s reaction time is what we
call: the one minute lag.  It can, of course, be longer than one minute; this depends
on the contents of the particular memory cells and can be embarrassing.

 Assume the convict has selected his mother
to assist with recognizing early memories, and we hit a memory spot where he is
masturbating.  Mom wants this to stop. But, the display can’t be stopped
instantaneously. In fact, Watchers are instructed to keep watching because
often these acts are associated with a violent crime. The Watchers have to keep
their eyes on the screen, regardless how it disturbs them, and confirm no crime
has been committed.”

The Deputy stared straight ahead then.
“Christ, if I am a Watcher, I may have to watch this guy play with himself, and
..”

Pat cut him off. “It gets worse.  Remember
most of these convicts have been around for a long time. As a watcher, you’ll
be seeing brutal footage; there is no editing. These are the rawest images
you’ll ever see. Let’s watch.”

She pushed a few buttons and the screen
filled: an S3 Interrogation, the first view a group of elementary school kids
playing pickup baseball. A Watcher pushed a control knob ‘ahead’ and after 1 or
2 minutes the screen went blank. Then a voice was heard in the Watchers’ room.

“This repositioning may take a few
minutes, and the screen will be blank while this happens, a warning buzzer will
sound when the next image stream is ready.”

Shortly the screen filled again. This time,
it was in a prison cell, and the Watcher reacted by requesting a leap backward
and the cycle repeated itself a number of times. Some of the scenes were
disconcerting, and the Watchers were given reminders to concentrate. A large
clock in front of the screen maintained a countdown, and at around 30 minutes
the screen filled with an armed robbery. The scene was chaos, screaming, and
gunshots. John could see the Watchers were distressed but did signal the end;
they arrived at the target memory stream, the crime scene.  The video stopped.
The technicians removed all the connecting cables and wheeled the convict out
of the room.

Pat started before John could ask. “He’s
being rolled down to the execution chambers. Since he’s already been medicated
as part of S3, there is no need for further sedatives. As well, there is always
someone from Legal Division present to watch the proceedings. When the session
is stopped by the Watchers, the legal representative reviews the result one
last time. He confirms the scene.

John, your staff will be part of the
execution crew, but the actual release of the fatal injection will be carried
out by the Citizen Team; these are regular citizens selected from a pool, in
the same way, we used to select jury members. This Citizen Team functions as
the old fashion army firing squads in that they all push a button, but no one
knows which button delivered the fatal mixture. There are three citizens in
each Team.

A new Citizen Team is assembled for each
execution. You’ll need to provide space and meals for about 15 to 21 citizens
each day. Since we don’t know how many executions will take place, we always
bring extras for the Citizen Team selection, like a jury pool. We’ll bus them
in and out daily; actually they’re bused out immediately after an execution.”

John was momentarily speechless. The demo
had been overwhelming. Most disturbing: the unedited contents of personal
memories, the unflattering honesty of each image stream. Was this what would be
revealed by the men he had been guarding for years? Brutal unforgiving violence
from men who had now found Jesus.

 “John, when I explain the process to the
convicts and tell them about their options, I think I’ll use this video.  It’ll
better than any verbal explanation and will demonstrate what they are facing;
I’m sure they already know, but a full description is a legal requirement.
John, you OK? Comments on the plan?’

“You’re right they should know exactly what
they’re up against. It’s needless punishment for them or relatives to go
through this unless they’re innocent. I’ll bring the Warden up to speed. It
appears you’re going to need at least a few more days to get everything ready.
I’ll leave now and meet with the Warden. See you in a couple of hours.”

Pat watched him leave. She had not shared
any of her concerns with him. Her staff had finally arrived, but no official
authorization to proceed from Judge Miller’s office. And where the hell was the
Forensic crew? Where was Emma?

 She was getting stonewalled. At the spring
dance, Dr. Kate had tried to be reassuring and talked about some vague
procedural issue which sounded like double-talk, not something to be expected
from Kate. Jacob didn’t even try to explain, his only comment: press on and get
ready. It was only Emma, after a few drinks, who hinted that it was
significantly more than a procedure issue which was slowing down authorization.

What the hell was going on? And why was no
one talking?