Silver Justice

by Blake, Russell

  Once through security, Silver bee-lined for her office, where as requested a copy of the paper sat waiting. The front page was a collage of crime scene photos, obviously taken by the killer. Particularly chilling was the central one where the victim was still alive, bound to the bed and obviously aware of his imminent fate. His eyes spoke such horror that Silver found herself looking away. More than any of the other shots, that particular one would cause a riot. She knew it the second she saw it. They were in deep trouble.

  Her inbox had a stack of messages, which she rifled through as she waited for her computer to boot up. Three from Washington, spaced every fifteen minutes. That couldn’t be good. Even as she registered the thought, her desk phone rang. Silver steeled herself for the onslaught she knew was to come. She took a quick gulp of her coffee and resignedly lifted the handset to her ear.

  ~ ~ ~

  The killer re-read the article and smiled, leaning back in his swivel chair, feet up on his computer desk as he nibbled on a doughnut. It had been another rough night, made more so by his brain racing at a thousand miles an hour, and he felt like he had a hangover even though he hadn’t taken a drink in months. He hoped the headache would fade as the day progressed – there was much to do, and he couldn’t afford to be incapacitated.

  The reporter had done a decent job of splicing in the message he had sent. At this stage, it was long on speculation and innuendo and short on fact, which is how he preferred it. The art was in getting the balance right – provide enough to titillate and keep the story topical without tipping his hand and revealing too much.

  The idea that he was bringing guilty predators to his brand of justice was the most important point, and that had come across loud and clear in the article. He didn’t want to be lumped in with the Ted Bundys of the world – twisted psychopaths who killed to satisfy some primal bloodlust. Quite the opposite, he didn’t consider himself to be a particularly violent man.

  He swallowed a morsel of doughnut and reached for his coffee while he debated his next target.

  The killings would get harder from here. The final ones were increasingly high profile. He wanted to save the best for last. Make a statement.

  He didn’t think anyone would figure out the connection until it was too late. Only a few people in the world understood what these men had done and how they were intertwined. If he had more time, he could have targeted a dozen more equally deserving, who were also beyond the reach of justice, but he didn’t have that luxury, although he’d certainly daydreamed about it.

  There was only so much he could accomplish. It would require all his skill and patience to successfully carry out his plan to fruition.

  He was at the halfway point, but already tiring. That wouldn’t do at all.

  After standing and stretching for a few moments, he paced over to his kitchen with his now-empty cup and got a can of soda. One of his guilty pleasures; he’d never acquired the taste for diet drinks. Full tilt was the only way he drank them, sugar be damned. And the caffeine would help him stay alert. At this point he needed all the help he could get.

  The killer peered through the window by the sink and noted that it was a nice day. He’d become so wrapped up in his mission that simple pleasures like this had largely been lost on him. Maybe he needed an intermission, a change of scenery.

  He chugged the cola on the way to the hall closet, where he pulled out a coat. Lately, the chill never left his bones, even when it was warm out. He knew it was all part of the process, but he still didn’t like it.

  Opening the door, he squinted up at the sun, then did a quick scan of his drab little block. This was all he had accomplished in his life – nothing else to show for it.

  The walk to the market took twenty minutes round trip, during which time he saw only one person he knew – a woman who had made it more than abundantly clear that it got lonely in the neighborhood at night. He wondered to himself how flirty she would have been if she’d known that she was extending a none-too-elegant invitation to the country’s most wanted serial killer. The thought made him smile, and for a moment he felt better.

  Once back home, he opened a file on his computer and began reading the contents – his research notes. Whenever his commitment wavered, all he had to do was read the litany of evil that members of this group had perpetrated, and remember those who had been forever damaged by them – such injustice reassured him that his course was the only one that made sense.

  Which was the wonder of it all.

  How messed-up was the world if the only logical plan involved him becoming a serial killer?

  He shook his head and clucked his tongue.

  What an odd trip it had become.

  ~ ~ ~

  It looked as though Richard had gotten little sleep when Silver called him into her office for an update. He entered clutching an iPad under his arm and sat at her small, round meeting table.

  “What do we have – anything new?” she asked, studying his eyes.

  He had definitely been burning the midnight oil. Possibly out painting the town red, charming the local ladies with his DC stories. She took a seat in the chair opposite him.

  “We do, but none of it is good. I spent most of yesterday night and this morning doing checks on the latest victim’s partner, given his associations, and I made a few calls to some colleagues. The more I dig, the odder it gets. The man has a hand in virtually every corner of the market system. He and Ali’s latest gambit was creating the back end for ‘dark pool’ trading and sponsored access.”

  Silver gave him a blank stare.

  “I’m sorry. About seven years ago they started supplying software and communications infrastructure so that larger entities could trade stock without having to go onto the exchanges. The trading takes place in dark pools, so named because they aren’t transparent.”

  “That sounds like it defeats the whole idea of a fair and orderly market, doesn’t it?” Silver commented. She ventured a sidelong glance at Richard. Even when tired, Silver conceded that he did exude a certain charisma. Perhaps Monique had developed fresh eyes for talent.

  “Exactly. But some pigs are more equal than others, and now most of the significant trading takes place in these pools. They’re unregulated, so there are no checks or balances, and ‘sponsored access’ is a term for where a large broker allows an important customer – a hedge fund – to trade directly in the markets using one of the brokers’ computer IDs. To the rest of the world, it looks like the broker is doing the buying and selling, which is a nice way to circumvent quite a few rules designed to stop manipulative trading.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Big brokers are ‘market makers’. The rules for market makers are different than for everyone else. Another way of looking at this is that these brokers are renting out their market maker exemptions to the largest hedge funds. Happens all the time now.”

  “And Ali and his partner…”

  “Are the cutting edge of the plumbing used to do it. These two were instrumental in designing the electronic exchanges most brokers now use, creating the dark pools that mask most of the larger trades and coming up with a way for preferred customers to masquerade as brokers. And one of the two is spitting distance from those who actively fund terrorists, whose largest enemy in the world is…”

  “The U.S.,” Silver offered.

  “Yes. Once I understood all this, I made a few more calls. Nobody knows anything about any investigation into it. Put simply, this is as big a smoking gun as if you were a flight school and had a couple of heavily accented voices on the phone asking if you could teach them how to fly a commercial jet, but skip the take-off and landing part. It’s that obvious. And yet when I spoke to my colleagues, as well as my superior, they knew nothing. So I sent a brief summary of my findings to my boss, who I have a good relationship with, and he promised to nose around.”

  “Did you get the feeling that he would pursue it?” Silver got a whiff of Richard’s aftershave as she leaned to
wards him to look at the information on his tablet’s screen. Understated. She decided that he smelled good. Very good, actually.

  “Not really. If it isn’t part of an active investigation, it takes a lot to move the machine into gear. Maybe something will happen, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

  Silver considered the latest bit of news. “I’m thinking that Ali’s partner may be next in line for a visit from the killer. It makes a certain kind of sense if The Regulator is what he appears to be, which is a serial killer on a mission. Part of me doubts that now because of the terrorism connection – that opens all kinds of doors. But absent any new information, I don’t want to go off on a tangent and assume there’s more going on than there really might be.” She shook her head. “What about the other three victims? Anything more there?”

  “I’m doing a background check on all their known associates and clients to see if there are any commonalities. I’m sure someone already did that, but it can’t hurt to do a thorough exam. And I’ve widened the parameters a little, to include anything that seems terror-related. Could be that’s the link. Not saying that it is, but my instinct is to pursue it.”

  “How long do you think it will take to scour their histories?”

  “A few days. Maybe as much as a week. It’s time intensive – not just simple name matching. There are several layers we need to dig through…”

  Richard ran his fingers through his hair. Thick hair, Silver noted, with strong hands for a financial type. Athletic for a desk jockey, too. She found herself wondering about his exercise regimen then realized she had started drifting again. Silver shrugged off the mental image she’d been forming of him standing under a waterfall with his shirt off. What was going on with her?

  “…so I don’t think it warrants surveillance. Not with his schedule. We should have another couple of weeks before he strikes again,” Richard concluded.

  Silver nodded along as she picked up the thread. “Hmmm. Fair enough. I think we wait to see what more we can glean before we do anything like put a team on the partner. Which I have no compunction about doing if it looks like he may be a target.” She shuffled her notes and stood, checking her watch. “Have you settled in to your apartment? Everything fine on that end?”

  Richard smiled. She noted the small wrinkles that appeared in the corners of his eyes and decided she liked them, too.

  “It’s not the Ritz, but hey, not terrible, either. My place back in D.C. isn’t exactly lavish, so I’m easy. It’ll do.”

  “That’s good to hear. Be sure to tell me if you need anything.” That didn’t come out right. She debated clarifying and then thought better of it.

  Richard seemed oblivious to the effect he was having on her. Which was for the best given that it was completely inappropriate, as was her internal dialogue at the moment.

  He stood and collected his iPad and notepad. “I’m going to go help my analyst get set up. She’s just arrived. Things will go faster once she’s plugged in…” Richard said.

  Silver nodded.

  She?

  Silver had assumed that the analyst from Washington would be male. Not that she’d devoted tremendous thought to it. She made a mental note to go meet the new arrival sooner than later – welcome her to the team.

  “How long will she be with us? And what’s her name?” Silver asked.

  “Oh, she just came in for the day. I wanted to bring her up to speed personally, and then she’ll be working remotely from D.C.. Maybe come into the city once a week to compare notes. She’s a civilian contractor. Stacy Burroughs. We’ve worked together on a number of cases, and she’s one of the best.”

  “Well, go do what you need to do, and I’ll stop in later to say hello. Good work on the victim’s partner. I just don’t know what to make of it.”

  “I know. Neither do I. But we’ll get to the bottom of things. That’s what I’m here for,” he said, before opening her door to let himself out.

  She watched through the glass panel as he made his way to the cubicles and wondered why she was suddenly so keenly aware of him as a male of the species. That was unlike her – Silver was ultimately all about business, and the thoughts she’d been having during their meeting were anything but. Perhaps it was the season. Spring in the air. Pollination running rampant, and so forth.

  Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to entertain any more of it. Even if Richard did have a bounce to his gait she could have watched all day.

  Silver shook off her musings and returned to her never-ending pile of reports, trying to make headway against the unstoppable tide. As the morning wore on, the drudgery got the better of her, and she found herself drifting off. Anxious for a break, she made a fresh pot of coffee and poured a generous measure, mentally promising herself that this would be the very last one of the day. The phone rang just as she was sitting back down.

  “Cassidy,” she answered.

  “Silver? It’s Frank Erensen from Rochester.”

  “Frank. It’s been forever. What’s going on up in God’s country?”

  “I wish this was a social call, Silver. But I’m afraid I have some bad news. It’s about Andy, and I wanted you to hear about it from me first…”

  “Andy? What happened, Frank?” Silver’s voice caught in her throat. Andy had been her partner until five years ago.

  “Andy was shot and killed in the line of duty this morning.”

  “What? How?”

  “He was pursuing a lead in an investigation, and a sniper got him while he was on a stakeout.”

  “Good Lord. What was he investigating?”

  “Chinese triads. Child prostitution. We’re pulling out all the stops to figure things out, but it’s still early. This just happened, so everyone’s scrambling.”

  Silver shook her head and rubbed her eyes. “How’s Julie doing? And the kids?” Andy had two boys, one about five and the other would be around two by now.

  “I’m headed out to the house right now to see them. Julie is falling apart, as you can imagine. I don’t even want to think about what the next few hours are going to be like.”

  “Frank, I’m so sorry. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  “I will.” Silver heard another line ringing in the background, and the murmur of voices. “Listen, Silver, I have to run. Sorry to be the bearer of such crappy news.”

  “No problem. It sounds like you have your hands full. Thanks for the heads-up.”

  Silver set down the phone and stared off into space. She hadn’t talked to Andy in at least a year – where had the time gone? He was still a relatively young man. She’d always had a soft spot for him. A big brother type, Andy was funny and engaging, and they’d been through a lot together in their years on the job. And now he was a corpse on a morgue slab, leaving a devastated family to mourn him.

  Every agent knew the risks and understood the theoretical possibility of work-related danger, but it still came as a shock whenever one of their own was killed. It was too close to home, and a reminder of the very real downside of the job. Every day, they were in the line of fire, even if it seemed like they were far removed when insulated in their offices and surrounded by manila folder jungles.

  The phone’s ringing jarred her back into the moment, and she braced herself for yet another in the long string of anxious calls she had been fielding since arriving that morning. She’d have to process the news about Andy later – right now the task force was her necessary focus. The newspaper coverage had created a firestorm that was set to define her day.

  She took a long pull on her coffee as the strident clamoring demanded her immediate attention, then reluctantly picked up the phone.

  Chapter 6

  Silver exited the cab at the curb in front of Ben’s building and pressed her way through the swarm of lunchtime pedestrians. Once in the lobby, she waited for the ponderous elevator to arrive, nervously checking her watch. She only had an hour she could be away from the office, and with travel that would barely leave
her half an hour with Ben. And they had a lot of ground to cover.

  At the firm’s reception desk, a well-groomed young woman took her name and murmured into a headset. Silver busied herself with her phone, responding to e-mails that never seemed to stop coming in. As expected there had been considerable agitation over the photo spread, and everyone from the mayor on down was demanding action and answers.

  Ten minutes later another woman approached from a door behind the receptionist and escorted her to a meeting room.

  Another three minutes ticked by before a rotund and bearded Ben, wearing his trademark gray suit, entered carrying a file. He sat down heavily across the table from her and leaned over to shake her hand.

  “You look good, Silver,” he boomed in his rich baritone voice. “Fighting crime must agree with you. What’s it been? Three – no, four years?”

  “About that. Thanks, Ben. You’re too kind. Time marches on…”

  “I know you’re probably in a hurry, so I’ll cut straight to the chase. I had a clerk pull the file at the courthouse, and basically your ex is filing for full custody of Kennedy, offering you weekend visitation rights.”

  “But he can’t do that! He has no grounds. I’ve provided everything a mother could,” Silver protested.

  “I understand. But he contends that with the amount you work you aren’t supplying a healthy living situation for Kennedy. He claims that ten or more hours a day you’re leaving her in the care of schools and babysitters, and that it’s having a negative effect on her mental health. He filed a placeholder for testimony from experts, including a counselor from her school, a teacher or principal, a Jane Doe and a shrink. Claims that Kennedy has a stress-related disorder stemming from this unhealthy living situation that involves self-mutilation, and that she’s developing increasingly anti-social tendencies.” Ben stopped consulting his notes. “What’s that all about?”