by K. C. Sivils
“Why would they do either? I mean, I get finding out who did the screw. Thin blue line and all. But the dead con? What goes on around here? Nah, nobody cares.”
“I care. Sullivan cares.”
“No, priest, you only care about good people. People who haven’t screwed up.”
Father Nathan’s right arm shot out and grabbed the convict by the collar, yanking the man's face to within inches of his own. The priest's eyes burned with fury. "I care about those who seek redemption. As for the rest, you're right I don't really care. Sullivan though, he seeks to see justice carried out. Not the law, justice. To him, injustice is injustice, even if the victim is a convict like you.”
Releasing the convict’s collar, Father Nathan pushed the man away from him and turned his angry gaze to the wall. He let silence fill the room.
“What do you want to know,” the convict finally whispered.
“Who really runs this place? What are the sources of cash flow and where does it go?”
SARAH MOVED FROM CHECKPOINT to checkpoint, bluffing her way past each time. Moving from AdSeg, she made her way down to the maximum-security level of the woman's facility.
This one is special. Different from our own, but special nonetheless. Such a problem to keep tabs on.
Following Sarah was problematic for the watcher. Every time she entered a new level or section of the prison, she promptly vanished from the camera. Only when Sarah crossed into the visual range of a hidden camera could the watcher could track her progress.
Yes, my pretty little one. You are smart. Keep looking, and you just might find what you are looking for.
SITTING ALONE AT THE murder scene, Josephson felt creeped out enough to wonder if his father hadn’t been right. He should have finished school to be an engineer. Sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall by the outer airlock, the pup stared at the pieces of the retinal eye scanner he’d removed from the wall.
Everything appeared to be in order. Josephson had even gone and removed the other retinal scanner to compare to the one Evans had looked into. The last thing he'd done before he died.
Unable to discern any differences and having checked the functionality of both scanners, Josephson photographed every square centimeter of both scanners. Sitting them down on the floor, the detective stood up to examine the housing on the wall for a second time. If he found nothing this go round, Josephson decided it was time to reassemble the scanners so he could escape the holding area.
He reached for the power supply cord to plug it into the scanner. In doing so, Josephson accidentally pushed it through the opening in the box, causing it to slip from view. Reaching through the opening, he felt around in the narrow gap between the two walls, trying to find the power source. His fingertips touched a cable. With great care, Josephson slipped his fingers around the object and pulled it slowly up and through the opening into the mounting receptacle.
In his hand was an object that looked nothing like the power cord.
“It was murder,” he whispered.
Without glancing around, Josephson calmly placed the object into his tool kit and reached for a pair of pliers. In less than a minute he’d managed to pull the cable to the power source out, reattached it and started the process of remounting the retinal eye scanner to the wall.
Five minutes later, Josephson stepped through the door and found the guard who had escorted him to the crime scene laughing with another guard at the end of the corridor.
“Hey,” he said loudly enough to be heard. “I’m done with the crime scene.”
The guard nodded and began walking towards Josephson, waving to the other guard as he did so.
“Find anything,” the guard asked casually.
“No,” Josephson grumbled. “I dang near didn’t get the retinal eye scanner back together either.”
He noticed the guard’s head jerked just a bit at the mention of the eye scanner. “Why’d you take that apart?”
“Last thing the victim did was scan his retina to open the door. My boss was adamant I look at the thing. Complete, total waste of time. Just like most of what my boss has me do," Josephson complained.
“Yeah,” the guard chuckled. “Tell me about it. The bosses like to think stuff up to keep us busy, you know?”
“Don’t I ever,” Josephson replied, feeling relieved.
SUBTLY WAS NEVER ONE of my strong points.
I left a wake of burned bridges, angry guards, actually, behind me as I bulled my way from the SuperMax and my meeting with the Russian King Dmitry to the medium security level of the prison.
“I want to see inmate Jamaal Henderson. Do you have an interrogation room on this level?”
“Inspector, we have to get any interaction between you and an inmate cleared with the warden first,” the guard answered.
"No, you don't. This is a double homicide investigation. I was called in from Beta Prime specifically for this. You don't see your prison officials handling this, do you? For all either of us knows, Warden Corona is the killer. So, no, you won't be clearing this with the Warden."
I looked at the other guard. Neither of them moved.
"Which one of you wants to get pounded first? Because that's the only way, you're going to stop me from interviewing this Jamaal Henderson. And we all know I’m capable of doing it.”
I watched the two guards look at each other, neither wanting to make the decision. “Evidently, neither of you is smart enough to know who you should be scared of.”
Stepping forward quickly, I deliberately brushed against the guard who had spoken as I moved into the guard station. Scanning the display on the wall, I found the cell I was looking for. Reaching down to the control panel on the desktop, I pressed the button for cell 248. A loud buzzing sound filled the cellblock, and the chatter among the cons died.
"Inmate Jamaal Henderson," I bellowed. "Report to the guard's station." I turned to look at the two guards whose faces were both as pale white as possible. "Where is the interview room?"
The second guard pointed behind him, indicating a steel door with a window in it. “Open it,” I ordered. Without responding, the guard hurried to obey.
“You’ll regret this,” the first guard warned.
“Probably,” I answered. “But, I’m going to talk to this Jamaal first.”
SARAH WAS NOT SURPRISED the women’s section of the SuperMax facility was small. It only took a few minutes for her to walk through the entire area, taking note of every detail possible. The guards watched her in silence. Sarah allowed her long, floor length coat to open and spread behind her as she moved. Within a minute the guards had forgotten her presence and returned to talking among themselves.
Silently, Sarah moved to the far corner of the cellblock, running her fingers down at think crack in a steel section of the way. Darkness shrouded her view, causing Sarah to blink to adjust for the dim lighting. In the recesses of the shadows, she made out a lock, positioned up against the concrete wall of the last cell. Running her ID over the lock produced a red light, indicating she did not have clearance to enter the area.
Easing her camera from its case, Sarah photographed the hidden area from different angles. Pulling out her tablet, she compared the map of the facility given to her with the actual layout.
Without realizing she’d even made a decision, Sarah returned everything to her bag and walked down to the guard’s station. Startled to see Sarah, the guards fell silent.
“I’m done. Do I have to sign something before I leave?”
“No,” the guard who had greeted her replied. “Let me escort you out.”
Sarah nodded and followed in silence. Upon reaching the entrance, she lifted her ID from her chest and wiped it across the lock before letting it fall back on her chest, suspended by its lanyard. The lock buzzed as the first door of the airlock opened.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah muttered. “I left a photo tag. I just realized I didn’t pick a couple of them up.”
She smiled at the g
uard who grimaced in irritation at Sarah's forgetfulness. "Don't worry. I can let myself out. I'm a big girl," Sarah promised, bumping into the guard as she made her way back into the SuperMax cellblock. The second guard didn’t even look up as Sarah passed in total silence.
“TALK TO ME.”
“Why should I talk to some white dude? Especially as one as ugly as you?”
Before Jamaal could react, I reached across the table and slapped him. He jumped to his feet and lunged at me.
Just like I had hoped he would.
I stood and moved out of the way in time for him to sail across the table and slam into the chair I’d been sitting in. Before he could untangle himself, I yanked him up from the floor and pinned against the wall.
“I don’t mind being called ugly, but leave the racist stuff out of it,” I barked.
I tossed the con across the room.
“Sit down before I slap you again.
I righted my chair and sat down.
Looking at me with pure hatred, Jamaal rubbed his cheek but did as ordered.
“Why should I talk to you?”
I shook my head and stood up again. Jamaal leaned back apprehensively in his chair. Before he could utter a word, I drew my .50 caliber and walked over to the door. Holding my old school kinetic energy projectile weapon by the business end, I used the grip to smash the camera and audio pickup.
I sat back down.
Jamaal eyed the large side arm as I rested my right hand on the table. He swallowed and looked up at me, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
“They tell me you’re the King of the Earth African gang in this place.”
“So? Don’t make no difference to you.”
“Probably not.”
"Then what you want to talk to me for? Probably just want to jam me up for something I didn't do."
"Actually Inmate Henderson, I just want to find out why it is Dmitry wants the killers caught, and nobody else around here seems interested into finding out the truth about what happened."
“I didn’t have anything to do with either of those jobs man. I’m tellin’ you straight up. Neither did any of my people.”
"Let's say you're telling the truth. Still, doesn't answer my question."
Jamaal looked at me in silence, thinking desperately. I knew what he was doing. Choosing between whom he feared most.
“I ain‘t tellin’ you nothin’ Inspector.”
“You just did.”
I stood up and walked over to the man. He sat still, staring up at me with a strange mixture of fear and hatred.
"Next time I ask you a question, and you don't answer, I will kill you if it comes to that."
I left him in the interrogation room to consider the promise I had just made.
REACHING INTO HER POCKET, Sarah removed the key card she had lifted off the first guard. This time, the lock showed green when she swiped it, and the gap in the wall opened ever so slightly. Using the tips of her fingers, Sarah forced the door over far enough to slip through.
Taking one of the orange photo ID tags from her kit, Sarah placed it on the floor and pushed the door back in place. The tag prevented the lock from catching, allowing Sarah a means to retreat.
She took several minutes to stand and visually scan the surroundings. As her vision adjusted, Sarah noticed workstations, computers and other electronic equipment filled the room. It was also filled with cells. Empty cells.
Step by step Sarah moved deeper into the secret room, taking note mentally of everything she saw. Stopping in the center of the room, Sarah closed her eyes and opened up herself up to all of her senses. Silence filled the room except for a faint sound she could not discern. The room was not cold, but it was not warm enough to be comfortable either. The floor was smooth to the touch of her foot, clean and well maintained. Opening her mouth and drawing in a deep breath, Sarah could only taste the faintest hint of metal and fiber optic cable. Finally, she inhaled deeply.
Her eyes flashed open immediately at the smell, the faint scent of strawberries. Sarah’s sixth sense knew there was a presence in the room.
Instantly alert, Sarah’s brain flashed into fight or flight, sending adrenaline racing through her veins. Crouched in a fighter’s stance ready to flee, Sarah turned quickly, searching each of the cells visually, looking for what she’d missed.
A body crashed into Sarah knocking her down to the floor. Before she could regain her feet, a booted foot kicked Sarah in the ribs and then stomped on her extended left arm, sending pain racing up into her shoulder. Sensing rather than seeing the attacker, Sarah lashed out with her right leg, catching the attacker in the back of the left knee just as the attacker swung with the right leg to kick again.
Sarah felt a satisfying pop as the tendons gave away, causing the attacker to fall backward. Sarah stopped her attacker from standing by rolling over and straddling her foe, smashing down her right fist in the attacker's face. Sarah felt rather than saw the long hair covering the enemy's face.
It was a woman.
Sarah’s pause allowed the assailant to roll to her stomach. The sudden movement brought Sarah back to the moment. She let her right fist hammer the side of her attacker’s face. After repeated blows Sarah grabbed a fistful of hair with her throbbing left hand and yanked the attacker’s head up, straining the assailant’s neck almost to the breaking point.
“What are you doing? Why did you attack me?”
“What, no, nice to see you? No, I’m sorry I took so long to get here?”
Frustration and anger coursed through Sarah’s veins, mixing with the adrenaline. Sarah wrapped her right arm around the attacker's neck in a chokehold, slowly depriving the foe of oxygen. After an eternity, the assailant stopped struggling and went limp.
Sarah released her hold and fell back on to the floor. She scooted away from the still form, sobbing.
“Why, Ellie? Why did you attack me?”
CHAPTER NINE
I LEFT THE GUARD STATION. There was nothing more I was going to get out of that Jamaal character until I had some leverage.
I wanted to meet with my team. Josephson had his faults. Technology wasn’t one of them. I wanted to what he had found at the Evans crime scene.
As much as I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I needed Sarah’s take on the Chekov crime scene. Not just as a clone with acute senses, but a woman’s view on things.
Both should be done with their assigned tasks. It made sense to have a quick meeting to compare what we’d learned before deciding what to do next.
I approached the elevator only to hear a guard running in pursuit. Not what I wanted to deal with at the moment, so I pretended not to hear the footsteps.
“Inspector Sullivan?”
I ignored the summons. Why not I figured.
“Inspector! Wait!”
I kept walking.
“Inspector, it’s your assistant! She’s been assaulted!
MARKESON STIRRED. HE wrinkled his nose at the smell of his breath. Smacking his lips, he shuddered at the taste of dry mouth and alcohol. Squinting for a moment before sitting up, Markeson tried to register where he was.
“Jennifer?”
“Yes, Captain?”
Relieved, Markeson opened his eyes. “Just making sure I made it home.”
"You are safe in your domicile. Your guest departed nearly half an hour ago. I do wish you would give me advance warning about any guest you plan to bring for a visit. It would allow me time to do a proper background check. It would be in the best interests of your safety for me to be able to do so."
“So noted,” Markeson answered as he rolled into a sitting position on the side of his bed. “Would you mind whipping up some of that hangover cure you’re so good at making?”
The A.I. didn’t answer, irritating Markeson.
“Jennifer?”
“I am complying with your request Captain. I wish you would not imbibe so much when you are spending an evening entertaining.”
Ma
rkeson grinned in amusement. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were worried about me.”
The A.I. remained silent, further amusing Markeson. “Either you care about me, or you're jealous, one or the other. Maybe both," he teased.
“I’m an A.I. Captain, I can’t be either. I am simply here to serve you and your best interests.”
“Whatever,” he answered. “I’m going to take a shower and then head to the precinct.”
Stepping into his shower stall, Markeson muttered aloud the command, “mist, cool, then hard, hot. Three minutes each. Dry." Cringing at the cool mist of water's contact with his aching body, he closed his eyes again. Shivering from the cold, he spoke again. "Shampoo." Seconds passed, and he felt the water running off his scalp change as a soapy film ran down his back. Turning to face the cold water, Markeson lifted his face, allowing the mist to pelt his skin.
“Water will become warm in ten seconds,” Jennifer warned.
Turning his back to the water source, he waited for the hot, pelting water to massage his sore back.
“Lather and clean, please,” he asked politely. The hot water produced a lather of masculine scented soap all over his body. Absentmindedly he ran his hands under his arms and then his groin area, making sure it was well cleaned. The water ran clear, rinsing the soap away, leaving Markeson feeling clean and refreshed.
His three minutes of hot water spent, he stood in silence for a moment, leaning against the sidewall of his shower, thinking.
“Jennifer?”
“Yes.”
“Can you arrange another meeting with my mystery visitor?”
“Are you certain you wish me to do so?”
Markeson stood up straight. Jennifer had never questioned one of his orders before. She’d asked to have directions clarified, but never actually questioned one.
"I'm fairly sure. I need more information before I make a final decision on the offer made to me."
