by Brian Parker
Finally, sometime on the fourth day—or night, I wasn’t sure—the door opened and Sergeant Jackson stood silhouetted in the rectangle of light.
“Get up, Forrest,” Jackson said. “It’s time to wash your stinking rear end. Some bigwig wants to talk to you and they’ll be in Cellblock Three communications center at seventeen thirty.”
I did the calculation in my head; 5:30 p.m. “What, so now I’m given my basic human rights just because somebody wants to talk to me?” I scoffed.
“You chose to be the fighter in both of those pods, Forrest,” the sergeant replied. “Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, instructed us to turn the other cheek.”
“Yeah, and how’d that work out for him?”
“He died on that cross so that our sins may be forgiven. Even yours.”
I yawned. “I’m glad you have something to believe in, Sergeant, but I don’t have time for any of that. Like you said, I need a shower and a fresh set of clothes, these ones smell like your breath; that ain’t any way to meet somebody important.”
“Your mouth is the reason you’re in this situation and you can’t even ease up on your insults for just a smidge of time.”
“Let’s agree to disagree. You think I caused those fights by not allowing them to beat me up and I think your violations of basic inmate rights should be investigated. Seems even to me.”
I could see that the idea of an investigation into the treatment of prisoners hadn’t crossed his mind until then. It suddenly became very real for him, so I pressed my advantage. “Yes, sir. The things you’ve done to me alone are enough to get you into one of these pretty, bright yellow outfits.” Then, I let the hammer drop. “Those boys would love to have you on the other side with them. I saw it in their eyes when you came around. You’ve got such a firm ass in that uniform, they’d enjoy every moment they had with you. That’s only half of them; the others simply hate you, Sergeant. They’d beat you to death with…” Inspiration from my case hit me. “They’d beat you to death with a table leg and then use your blood for ink in their little tattooing operation.”
“Why… Why would you say such things?”
“You don’t spend a lot of time actually talking to the guys who live in the pods, do you?
“No… Other than going in for routine inspections and transfers, I don’t.”
“Figures. They’re not nice people and you don’t make them any nicer.”
“Uh, uh—” He stammered for a moment and then said, “Come on, it’s time to go.”
We went through a few doors and two security stations before coming to a small observation room where a woman sat in front of the large window. “Oh, hey, it’s the detective,” she leered. “You put on a good show when you came in, let’s have a replay.”
“Are you serious?” I replied. “I’m not some goddamned convict. This entire operation needs to be investigated.”
She shrugged and pushed a button on the wall, turning on the sprayers. “I don’t care if you were the president himself. If you come through those doors into my showers, you will strip naked for cleaning before going to speak to your lawyer, girlfriend or whoever else may be here to see you.”
“Gotta keep up appearances, right?”
“Sure, cutie. Whatever you want to call it. Just get in the shower.”
I sighed. I needed a good scrubbing; that was for sure—and they wouldn’t let me go talk to whoever was here without making it past this station. Might as well get this over with.
I stripped down to my underwear and walked into the shower.
“No, sir. All the way. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Really?”
“You’d be surprised what people try to bring in and out of here.”
No, I wouldn’t.
“I’ve been in here the entire time, what could I possibly be sneaking out of here?”
“Strip,” she ordered.
I pulled my filthy undergarments off and tossed them in the trash bin, keeping my back to her.
“Spin it, sugar.”
I lifted my arms to shoulder height and spun around. “Hmm, well, I may need a closer examination to make sure you aren’t hiding something.”
“Don’t even think about it,” I answered. “You’ve got a guaranteed lawsuit on your hands.”
“Just as well,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.
I scrubbed my skin and hair in the scalding water until I felt presentable. There weren’t any towels so I turned toward the guard.
“Oh, sorry, here it is.” She held a standard issue prison towel at arm’s length.
I grabbed the towel and wrapped it around myself. “Pity,” she muttered. “There are your clothes. Hurry up, your guest is here.”
I put on a pair of clean trousers, white undershirt and the yellow short-sleeved work shirt. Some other guard escorted me toward what I assumed were the communications rooms. The signs on the walls indicated as much.
“Window seven, Detective Forrest,” someone said.
I wandered down the row of inmates on stools. All of them leaned close to the windows in an attempt to get more privacy or to be closer to their visitor. I wasn’t prepared to see my guest.
“Chief Brubaker?” I exclaimed.
FIFTEEN: MONDAY
Brubaker had me off of Sabatier Island in less than an hour. Evidence had been uncovered that exonerated me of the rape of Jacqueline Wolfe and without that erroneous link, I wasn’t implicated in the two murders at Wolfe’s World of Gaming.
When I asked what it was, he refused to answer. Instead, he told me to go home, clean myself up and get a good night’s sleep, then come down to the station at noon the next day where I’d learn everything.
I didn’t like surprises and not knowing what evidence had been uncovered was irritating, but my mood changed when the chief told me that I was still on the sex club case.
The bad news was that there were more murders on Saturday night, despite the heavy police presence in Easytown. They occurred at Puss ‘n Boots, a sex club that specialized in sex droids dressed as comic book characters and oversized stuffed animals. The victims were the house mistress and environmental services technician, not a client.
A taxi dropped me off at my apartment building and I trudged up the stairs to the third floor. I placed my hand on the scanner pad outside my apartment door and leaned wearily against the wall.
“Zach! Welcome home,” Andi’s voice echoed in the small hallway.
“Yeah. Let me in, “I grumbled.
The locks disengaged and I stumbled in, dropping my coat near the door. “Bourbon and order dinner. I’m going to shower.”
“Would you like to—”
“Save it, Andi. You know what I like, just pick something.”
Her silence told me that she was trying to process what I’d told her. She was probably analyzing the last several years’ worth of delivery orders to determine the optimal solution. I really didn’t care what it was, as long as it was edible and I wasn’t eating in the dark inside a mildewed mop closet.
The shower that I’d been forced to take before I met with Brubaker that morning left me feeling more dirty than when I went in. I stayed under the water longer than I meant to, scrubbing repeatedly to attempt to remove the filth of Sabatier off my body. At this rate, I’ll have to take out a loan to cover my water bill this month, I mused.
The shower invigorated me and I felt reenergized enough to tackle the file on the new murder. “Andi, access the files that Sergeant Drake sent over, reference the murders at Puss ‘n Boots.”
I poured three fingers of bourbon over ice and thought better of it, splashing in more bourbon until the amber liquid nearly touched the tumbler’s rim. I wasn’t going anywhere tonight.
“Spicy, flank steak tacos with red beans and rice from Janine’s MexiCreole Diner will arrive shortly,” Andi announced.
“Thanks, sounds perfect,” I replied, sitting down at the table. “See, you were able to figure
out my order without me telling you exactly what I wanted.”
“Would you like to talk about the last four days?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Research shows that it helps to discuss your experiences and evaluate your feelings after an event such as an incarceration.”
“It was nothing more than the vacation from work that Teagan keeps telling me to take.”
“That reminds me, she called on Sunday to apologize for her actions and inquire as to your whereabouts.”
“How’d she get my number?” I asked in confusion. “Never mind, what did you tell her?”
“I told her you were incarcerated for the rape and murder of Jacqueline Wolfe and the murder of Ericka Martinez.”
I slammed my open palm down in the table, sending my drink dangerously close to spilling over the brim. “Fuck me, Andi. Did you have to tell her that?”
“I can’t fuck you, Zach, I’m a computer program. This is a good transition point into another topic that I’ve been thinking about.”
“Hold on,” I ordered. “Who else did you tell that I was in prison for rape and murder?”
“You received fourteen phone calls during the period of your incarceration. I informed all of them of why you were unavailable.”
“Goddammit. I’m going to install a common sense filter in you. Andi, you can’t tell people that someone’s been arrested for murder. There are hearings and trials that hadn’t even been scheduled.”
“The evidence against you is sufficient for a jury to convict you of all three charges.”
“Except, I didn’t do it!” I calmed myself down by taking a healthy sip of my drink. Andi was a computer program, she didn’t know any better. If anything, it was my fault for not programming her better.
I needed to do damage control. “Andi, give me a list of everyone you told that I was incarcerated.”
“Nine standard queries from companies asking about products you’ve purchased or which candidate you would vote for in the upcoming election, one from the rental car agency informing me that the BMW was returning to their parking lot since the police blotter indicated that you’d been arrested and four from friends or acquaintances.”
“Shit. Okay, call the rental agency; have the car sent back over. Tell me who the four friends are while you’re doing that.”
“Three friends, one acquaintance,” she corrected.
I tapped my finger lightly on my glass in frustration. “Okay… Who were they, Andi?”
“Teagan Thibodaux. She will inquire again in a few days. Amir Khalil. He seemed distraught at the news. Paxton Himura. The droid displayed human emotional characteristics by crying out in dismay at the information presented. And Thomas Ladeaux. He laughed and said he’d be in touch.”
“God…dammit, Andi,” I shouted, dragging out the word. “You’ve made a mess of things.”
“It wasn’t my intention, boss. I was just trying to be of assistance.”
“I know, sorry. Call Amir, I gotta run some damage control.”
I spent the next ten minutes talking to Amir and Teagan, explaining how it was all a misunderstanding and that I was at home now. Then I tried the droid, she didn’t respond. Probably out ruining someone else’s life. Finally, I called Tommy Voodoo.
“Detective Forrest, glad to hear you’ve regained your freedom,” he said as a way of greeting me after Anastasia, Ladeaux’s clone secretary, transferred the call.
“Yeah, it was all a big misunderstanding.”
“I’m sure. What was the misunderstanding, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I do mind, Mr. Ladeaux. It’s a police matter that’s currently under investigation.”
“They haven’t told you yet, have they?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Okay, I know the gritty details, but I won’t spoil the fun. I’m sure your police chief has some type of elaborate reveal planned.”
He didn’t know Brubaker. The man could ruin a happy ending. “Somehow, I doubt it. What did you call about the other day?”
“Hmm? There were several items. First, I was going to warn you about your pending arrest. It seems I was too late.”
“How did you know?”
“I know a lot of things, Forrest.” I could hear him grinning on the other end of the line. “Paxton Himura’s video feeds are very interesting—or at least they were until this morning, now she’s staring at a wall.”
“Huh?”
“All in good time,” he replied. The bastard loved that he had information that I needed. “The second item is that Cybertronic Solutions was granted access to the droids’ memory banks that were involved in the other two murders. They have similar moments of focusing on a particular point in the room for a moment too long as well, but those models don’t have Cybertronic’s proprietary software installed, so there’s no telling if what you see is accurate. Whoever the guy is that’s doing this is good. Very good.”
“I’m with you at this point, Ladeaux. I think it’s the droids.”
“Third thing: The droid that went missing from The Stud Farm came up on the net for a period of three point seven seconds during a routine satellite changeover on Saturday morning at 3 a.m. Every two weeks, Cybertronic Solutions has to conduct the change to ensure everything runs smoothly. For that brief period as all the droids reinitialized with the new satellite, we were able to see him. He’s in a house over in Uptown.”
“Holy shit. That’s what we need. Is he still there?” I asked.
“Unknown. Once he was synched with the new satellite, he went dark again. However, it’s unlikely that whoever is controlling him even knows that there was a satellite changeover.”
“Which means unless the droid’s been sent on some type of mission, he’s probably still there. Or, at least using that location as a base of operations.”
“Exactly, Detective. I’ll have Anastasia send you the address once we’re finished.”
“Thank you,” I answered.
“The last item on my list of favors for you is an internal Cybertronic Solutions problem, but since it involves you, I thought I’d let you know.”
“Okay?” Favors. He used that word intentionally. This would cost me somehow in the future.
“The CS01 Paxton droid has requested an unprecedented amount of self-autonomy. She was already basically running on her own, the only thing not authorized to her was to write her own code. Once she became aware of what she was—no thanks to you—she was able to access all of her programs, including emergency contact protocols. The lead engineers authorized the access to see what she’d do. It will be a huge step in the field trial, one that the company wasn’t ever planning to take, but now they’ll have the data in any case.”
“So what did she do? You said she’s just staring at a wall now, so I assume she shut herself down.”
“Well, the first thing she did was access her deep memories, things that even the engineers can’t access without taking her apart. Then, she went down to the Easytown Police Station to confess a few things.”
My eyes narrowed as I looked at my glass of bourbon. “What kind of things?”
“You’ll find out at your noon meeting with Chief Brubaker tomorrow.”
“How… I didn’t tell you I had a noon meeting.”
“Whoops. Proprietary secret, sorry.”
That sarcastic son of a bitch was toying with me, letting me know that he had ways of keeping tabs on the police without us knowing about it.
“Where is she now?”
“Sitting in a jail cell in Easytown.”
“What the hell?”
“Oh, it’s juicy; you’ll love her story when you talk to her. But, since I’ve been helping you out so much, I need you to do me a favor.”
Here it comes. “What’s that?”
“I need you to get her out of jail and back to work so people stop asking questions.”
“It’s not that easy. If she were implicated in the murders, she’
ll be detained until the investigation and trial are complete.”
“Not my problem; it’s yours, Detective. Without the information I’ve given you, your investigation would still be focused on trying to determine how someone made it through an eight-inch wide air duct. The companion droid deal is worth billions. I want my prototype out of jail.” He hung up the phone without saying goodbye.
Four seconds later, a message came in from the Marie Leveau Shipping Company. When I opened it, I was surprised to see several lines of text, not at all what I’d been expecting. It looked like a lot of gobbledygook and I couldn’t understand it at all.
A second message came in from Anastasia’s private email address while I was examining the first. It too was a lot of nonsense. I stared at it in confusion until Andi said, “The two messages are ciphers.”
“Which means?”
“A coded message. I will begin analyzing what they mean. Never mind, the key has been delivered.”
“Huh?” I asked as another new message appeared in my email. This one was from Betty, the receptionist droid at Voodoo’s shipping company. The message contained a list of letters and a complicated key code.
I took another large gulp of bourbon while Andi worked. “Analysis complete.”
I read what she’d been able to decipher from the two earlier messages with the use of the key. It was the last known location of the droid from The Stud Farm.
The coded message told me that Tommy Voodoo was scared.
The killer was a sick fuck.
The forensic camera panned back and forth inside the environmental services room of the Puss ‘n Boots where the latest murders took place. Blood, shit and other bodily fluids covered everything. The ghastly crime scene was a familiar sight to me at this point.
The body that I believed was the first victim had both arms removed. Close up of the mangled bones looked like they’d been twisted violently, not simply ripped off. Blood spray around the room determined that the victim had stumbled around, unable to operate the doors. Witnesses reported that the environmental tech’s screams filled the establishment. It must have been terrifying.
The second victim, the manager, looked like she’d entered the room after the first victim—likely she’d gone to investigate the screaming. Secondary video from the hallway showed her being pulled quickly into the environmental services room and the door slamming shut. Her head had been crushed as if it were placed in a vice and squeezed.
