by Gary Starta
Chapter 11
Suspect
I was so angry my ears burned and I couldn’t even remember driving to the White House to make the arrest.
Security officer Patrick Nelson gave me little trouble but his eyes were an angry, defiant sea of hatred. Arresting a fellow officer, even a security guard, always feels like you’re betraying the cause somehow. This was much more than empathy however. I really didn’t believe Nelson did it despite the tape which portrayed the burly guard striding down a White House hallway, glass in hand.
Could we ascertain from a tape that the glass was filled with the venom used to poison President Eva Fleming? No. Could we even confirm that Nelson made it to the Oval Office where he handed the beverage to Fleming? No. There were too many “no’s” for my liking. I don’t work this way. Yes, I worked on hunches in the past, gut feelings, suspicions even, way before I was graced with psychic visions and telepathy. But my hunches and suspicions were always backed by facts. In my mind, this case was far from being closed, far from reaching the point where you knew a jury would convict a man. And following that logic, I concluded this arrest was more about public image than justice.
A few hours after the arrest, I sat before Deputy Director Seals with Chuck at my right hand side.
I wished I could have spat venom at that moment. I just knew Seals jumped at the chance to make the arrest, not only to quell the public, but to impress his superiors. But what did Seals really do? He didn’t dig for clues and piece them together like Inspector Poirot, he simply accepted what the Ennead gave him to be the absolute truth. They had somehow manipulated quantum mechanics in a very specific time-and space-related fashion to put the camera back into the past, before it was sabotaged, and then move it along space and time like a string to the moments leading up to President Fleming’s murder. In effect, Nephthys explained to Seals, the camera had recorded matter from the past. Even the most educated scientist might find this quantum methodology suspect. I wished I had Brahms by my side as well at this moment. He might provide an intelligent counterpoint. Something I couldn’t do. Seals knew this. My empathic abilities convinced me the director was gloating. He shifted his weight, leaning from side to side in his recliner, keeping his gaze on me as my body language betrayed my every emotion. I stammered, my eyes fluttered and I’m damn sure I waved my arms a few too many times for what I was expected to be—a poised veteran of the FBI.
I could also sense Chuck’s uneasiness. He wanted to rein me in. Give me his hand. But I was too angry to be pacified. Besides, I wasn’t certain where Chuck stood on this. He hadn’t said much since I made the arrest. Maybe he was okay with shoddy police work, given the scope of the case. I would agree the public wanted justice, no doubt. It was what I was afraid of since I stood over Fleming’s dead body. A patsy would be found. But the biggest thorn in my side was a complete lack of motive. Why would Security Officer Nelson do such a thing?
Seals pursed his lips and paused to answer, extending the drama as he always did. He tapped his desk with his hand and spoke. “He could have been compromised while on the job or possibly was part of a hate cell all along. You know yourself, Agent Diggs, there are resistance cells out there even now, despite the disappearance of the demons. Remember, this murder occurred before the demon disappearance. It was pretty clear to everyone that the president sympathized with demons. She wanted to end segregation, make sure demon civil rights were upheld. And we all know the American populace, not to mention the entire human world, acted less than politically correct during these campaigns.”
I cut him off. “Yes, you are right Deputy Director; except, when it came to depending upon the demons to provide a deterrent to war. That’s when we were all glad to have lycans, vamps and incubi live in our towns where they would be in easy recruiting reach should a war break out. So who’s going to protect us now?” I didn’t wait for his answer. He leered at me as I continued my rant. “Sir, do you have complete confidence the Ennead are here to aid us? Could they have another motive? Because if we’re talking motive, I’m still not convinced Nelson killed for a cause. And why are you so dismissive of a demon’s involvement? There’s still evidence that teleportation was used, isn’t there? If so, couldn’t a demon have shape-shifted to appear as Nelson?”
“It could have been a ruse. The teleportation could have been staged.”
I thought about it. That would take some pretty elaborate staging, especially since security guards aren’t noted for their magical prowess. I didn’t bring to this to Seals’ attention. What I did point out was a simple fact. “I believe the Bureau doesn’t want to still consider demons as suspects because there are no demons left to arrest.”
Seals leaned closer to his desk and opened a folder. He didn’t respond to the accusation. I hadn’t expected him to. He glanced at paperwork for a long moment before speaking. “You haven’t conducted an official interview with the suspect. I remind you, Agent Diggs, it is your job to go into that interview impartial, without personal bias, and get Nelson to confess.”
My lips formed a smile but my eyes didn’t. “I understand that is imperative because the tape footage we have merely places Nelson at the scene. We all know he was on duty that evening. It’s circumstantial.”
“We have the smoking gun on video, Agent Diggs. Use your interrogation skills. Put that smoking gun, the glass, in President Fleming’s hand. We will have a conviction and the public can be comforted that justice has been served.”
“Again, sir, I must question the Ennead. If they were at all involved, this takes the heat off of them. I would request we only hold Nelson as a person of interest. I mean, are we supposed to believe the tape is now accurate when before it pictured another staffer on tape, one who wasn’t even on duty?”
“As someone who has been labeled an Egyptian goddess herself—for reasons I can’t comprehend…” Seals paused, nearly in a pant. “I can’t fathom why you are so doubtful about the Ennead’s motives. As far as I can tell, their only motive is to help us; you heard their speeches yourself. And no, the FBI is not going to rescind a murder charge—especially of this magnitude.”
I shook my head. This time Chuck gave in to his urges. He rested a palm on my shoulder and spoke to Seals. “Deputy Director, I am going to personally oversee the interview with Nelson. I can’t promise a confession. But Agent Diggs will do everything in her power to find the truth. I can promise you that.”
I smiled on the inside. Chuck had just danced, in bureaucrat speak. He assured Seals I would do my best to get at the truth. I would. That’s what I had just argued for. But Seals, too accustomed to Bureau flunkies, didn’t bother to decipher what Chuck really said. He simply folded his hands together and leaned back in his chair, pacified that we would prepare a conviction for the Department of Justice. In my universe, Homeland Security would have also overseen the prosecution. But that branch of government didn’t exist here. There was no 911. I wondered if there had, would the bureaucrats and citizens be so accepting of the Ennead?
I also wished I could be completely truthful. If my superiors knew I wasn’t their Diggs and had paranormal abilities, I could alert them of my vision. I’d seen a vision of water, the very ocean where the Ennead landed, when I touched the president. It still confirmed, for me, Ennead involvement in the murder. But one thing Nephthy’s investigation did for me was also cast doubt on my suspicion. With a human blamed for President Fleming’s murder, it removed the suspicion that demons had been involved. The subsequent disappearance of the demon population had been softened by the alleged fact that demons had been the assassins. Yet now, what would prevent at least some of the populace from demanding an answer regarding their disappearance? Most humans wouldn’t shed a tear over what I feared was a mass abduction. But there were still humans who had relationships with these demons. Wouldn’t these family members soon demand answers, or were they like most of the populace, under some kind of thrall of the Ennead? I had to conclude they were. If that were the case
, the Ennead couldn’t operate entirely on principles of science. I believed magic existed for this. Possibly Briana could aid me in that regard. But right now, I would dance to Seals’ tune and conduct an interview—to the best of my abilities.
* * * *
The fire was extinguished from Patrick Nelson’s eyes in the ensuing hours of his incarceration. I could see it through the one-way mirrored glass (If it was a two-way mirrored glass it would appear to be a mirror from both sides.). As I observed his body language I feared he might confess just to end the interrogations. His arms were folded, his feet planted on the floor. Not a hint he was going to rebel against the chains shackling him. As an officer of the law, he must have realized that often judgments were made long before sufficient evidence is gathered. It’s wrong, but it happens. He might feel helpless now that his initial rage had subsided. Or, he might be under effect of a mass thrall instigated by the Ennead.
I shook off a chill as I made my way inside the interview room; it wasn’t a decrease in body temperature due to air conditioning. It was because I envisioned the Ennead taking total command of this world, not by force, but simple suggestion. Mind control via magic.
I felt Chuck’s gaze through the mirrored glass as I readied my questions. I would assume the video provided credible evidence. That the matter recorded by the camera was indeed the same matter which compromised the man seated before me. That theory was enough to fill me with doubt. Maybe it was just more magic, more tricks.
I began with less threatening questions as Bureau training warrants. You didn’t want to start an interview with a full court press, but build to it, in a way a pot of heated water shifts from a simmer to full out boil. That analogy made me think of how water changes its form and becomes something different, as when water evaporates and turns to steam. It nagged me. I just didn’t have total confidence in the video. Even if it did portray Nelson in the hallways, there was no film of his entrance into the Oval Office itself. The Ennead claimed it was still working its quantum mojo to get that footage. You can see why I have my doubts. Or maybe you think I’m an over-the-edge conspiracy nut. I wouldn’t hold it against you. I’m sharing a body, if not mind, with a goddess. I’m sure my hormones have been affected if not my entire central nervous system.
Nelson provided tight-lipped, curt answers for the initial questions. He admitted he was on duty during the night of the murder but when I pinpointed exactly where he was at the time the footage was recorded, his composition changed. It wasn’t defiance. I focused my empathic abilities to ascertain just what the mood change was. He seemed to be perplexed. He swallowed, audibly. Beads of sweat formed at his temples. His breathing became labored and his voice became raspy. His answers came in the form of grunts and moans. I believed he’d come to the conclusion that he’d been set up. He shifted his head from side to side. He reminded me of a large, slobbering dog. I couldn’t help equate the imagery with innocence. As Nelson struggled with the question, I cocked my head toward the glass, attempting to glean what Chuck thought of his change in body language. I didn’t have time to read his emotion because Nelson sputtered a few intelligible words together. “Break time is 10:45. Your video records me in the hallway at 10:53. I couldn’t have been there. I just couldn’t.”
I gave him a moment to drink water. “Mr. Nelson, can you tell me why you couldn’t have been in the hallway at 10:53 p.m.?”
“It’s because I take my breaks at specific times. I would have been relieved by Officer Mullins.” He paused. He motioned to bring his arm up towards his face. I could imagine he wanted to scratch his face in wonder, but couldn’t, not while in handcuffs. I sensed no ill will from him. In other words, I didn’t fear he was going to strike me. I wondered why my empathic abilities seemed to be stunted when it came to the Ennead. It seemed I hadn’t been able to read their emotions at all.
He continued. “I think you need to check with Mullins. Yeah. It had to be him in the hallway. Although I don’t know how, I mean, I know it looks just like me in the video.” His brows furrowed. “I know how this looks and just five minutes ago I couldn’t have told you how it couldn’t have been me in that hallway. But now I can. I am obsessive compulsive. Just ask my ex. I take my breaks in the bathroom. I mean, I don’t want to get too personal, but it’s a matter of my innocence or guilt.”
“No. Mr. Nelson. I welcome your candid answers. We only want the truth.” I pictured Seals clutching his chest. He would have had a coronary at my response—but he wasn’t here to argue. His physical discomfort would be delayed until he could review the interview tapes. I took some smug satisfaction. I also realized how time can be manipulated. Seals would have been pissed at my non-confrontational response towards Nelson. But his anger would come later because he wasn’t physically here to observe at this moment of time. Thanks to video tape, he would experience this moment in time later. Was this quantum mechanics? I would need Brahms to tell me. But the premise intrigued me. What if I recorded over the tape somehow and my words and actions were altered? I could imagine myself hovering over Nelson, slamming the desk with my hand, demanding his confession. It would produce a different emotional response from Seals no doubt. And it would prove that manipulation of the truth is possible. The recording would portray me acting in a different fashion then I originally had but at the same moment of time as far as the recording tape was concerned. Is it proof positive of manipulation, altering the truth? I think so.
“You are going to check with Mullins, aren’t you, agent? I mean, I don’t believe he is guilty. But he was my replacement for my break. And be assured, I am telling you the truth when I tell you I take my breaks in the john. It’s because it’s the only place I can find peace to read. You probably don’t want to know all this. But I wrote an essay in school which was published in a magazine. Ever since then, I’ve strived to become a professional blogger. I can imagine this all sounds quite neurotic, but it’s the truth, Agent Diggs. There are no video cams in the bathroom so you’ve got to take my word. You will check into this, won’t you?”
I shuffled documents into a folder to appear non-responsive. I didn’t want Nelson to believe the charges would be dropped, specifically the one which accused him of conspiring to kill the leader of the U.S.A. The charges were serious. And I was working on a hunch as well. I needed to prove the Ennead’s involvement. If I didn’t, it would be hypocritical. Jumping to a conclusion like Seals had.
I couldn’t use my vision as evidence. But Briana did fashion a locator spell which led her to the ocean. Why would that have happened? If Nelson did the murder, why didn’t the locator spell bring us to him in the first place? I would use Briana’s spell to champion my cause. I would also question the replacement guard, Mullins. And to be thorough, were we convinced both Nelson and Mullins were one hundred percent human? If the Bureau was to stand by its arrest, there now was no reasonable explanation for what appeared to be teleportation out of the Oval Office. I would remind Seals of this fact—again. He’d jumped the gun before. But was he jumping the gun this time because of the Ennead’s influence or was he just the same old power hungry bureaucrat? I surmised both conclusions might be justified.
* * * *
A sweet but unnerving invitation awaited me on my voicemail.
Charlize would be singing—in public no less. The teen would perform for the Ennead and their entourage in the Opera House of the Kennedy Center. The gods and goddesses who were stationed abroad would enjoy the telecast via video conferencing. Yes, there would be quite a few empty seats as the hall seated upwards of three thousand. But it wasn’t the people who wouldn’t be attending the concert that concerned me as much as those who would.
It took some prodding but Charlize did admit a certain attraction to a King named Tut had set the event in motion. Seals would have been proud of my FBI interviewing skills. I baited Charlize by offering a few compliments about the boy king. From then on the confession flowed freely via a 9G network.
“You really need to ga
ze into his eyes, Star of the Sea. They are so honest, so telling, so beautifully naked.” I reacted internally, mom-like to the way she associated Tut with the word naked. Externally, I responded as a close girlfriend. “That’s great. He must be excited to hear you sing.” I fell silent, realizing my BFF response was fraught with danger. “You didn’t tell him about your…gift…did you, Charlize?”
“Uh…no… I sang a few lines from an Etta James song. He said he fell in love with my voice. Don’t worry, it’s about the music.”
The part of Charlize that could inhibit demon violence with song told me she wouldn’t lie to me. But the teenage part of her told me different. What normal teen wouldn’t fib a little when it came to adolescent lust? I had never done this mind you. But then again, I was never normal.
I attempted to control my accelerated breathing but I’m sure Charlize detected it over her iphone. I wasn’t just concerned she was dating a boy who came from outer space. I had to wonder if what she revealed to Tut—in what I imagined was a few private moments—had somehow been leaked to the Ennead. And I had to wonder, with Isis literally inside of me, what good would all this worrying do? Whatever I learned or thought about might go directly to them because like it or not I was part of the divine nine. But some part of me trusted Isis to be different; maybe because Charlize put so much faith into me. After mulling over all these deductions for a moment, I decided to support Charlize’s actions out of my love for the child. Anyway, I might have been to blame. I had left Charlize at the celebration alone with her wandering gaze and surging hormones. She had no choice but to pursue Tut.
“So how did you two meet? I know it was the festival. But was there a magic moment?” Okay, now I was her BFF for real.
“It wasn’t contrived at all…” She paused to giggle. “Okay, it was but he was having trouble with his iPad. I couldn’t let royalty stumble with technology in public. I just offered to help him.”
