by Rahul Bhagat
While Blair was thinking what to do, his digital assistant informed him that Mr. Doud had arrived for their meeting. He welcomed the distraction and asked the assistant to send him in.
Charlie Doud arrived in the office.
“Do you have any deep learning specialists?” Charlie asked Blair. “We want multiple AI whisperers to interrogate the driver. Probe it from different directions, you know what I mean.”
Blair looked at Charlie. “I was considering putting Martin on the Go Team.”
Without batting an eye, Charlie Doud turned toward Martin and extended his hand. “Congratulations,” he said. “It will be a pleasure to have you on the board.” Then looking back toward Blair, he said, “This is an excellent choice. We need the wisdom and personal commitment more than anything else.”
Blair felt relieved. “Good. So that’s settled then.”
“How is the investigation coming along?” Martin asked Charlie.
“This is laborious, methodical work,” Charlie said with a smile. “We’ve been able to reconstruct the last few seconds. Something went terribly wrong in those moments. It was like the vehicle was blind, couldn’t see the curving road. And at the very last moment, it suddenly woke up and braked violently, but that was too late.”
“Blind? Were the cameras working?” Martin asked.
“They were all working—cameras, radar, lidar. That’s the surprising part. We couldn’t find a single defect in the vehicle,” Charlie said.
“Strange,” Blair added.
“The wheels were turned ninety degrees in the last moments,” Charlie said. “The vehicle tried its best to avoid the crash, but why did it blank out? We’re looking at long, backbreaking work.”
“Could it be sabotage?” Martin asked.
“Sabotage!” Charlie laughed as if taken by surprise. “I don’t think so, but you could never rule it out.” He looked at Blair with questioning eyes.
Blair shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Martin, I hope you’re not going to chase any conspiracy theories.” He was starting to have serious doubts about letting Martin be on the Go Team. Hopefully, he wouldn’t make a fool of himself or do anything to tarnish the image of the department.
ELEVEN
THE NATIONAL TRANSPORTATION Safety Board headquarters in Washington, DC, was all marble and mahogany. Martin was thoroughly impressed by the building. He was impressed even more by the acre-long table in the conference room. Charlie sat in the middle, his suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up. Martin felt good to see Charlie in charge. He seemed like the right man for the job—sincere, hardworking, and full of initiative. But something about Charlie still nagged at him, something he couldn’t place a finger on. Was it because Charlie didn’t show any enthusiasm for the conspiracy angle?
Martin found his nameplate and sat down. He was happy to be in a corner, away from the cameras and the limelight. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but he found being in the midst of eggheads and technocrats intimidating.
Charlie Doud opened the meeting. He thanked everyone for being there and gave a long, winding speech about their duty to keep public trust in autonomous vehicles. The attendees talked in heavy technical terms, and none of that made sense to Martin. He struggled to keep awake and chugged the bottle of water in front of him.
Martin’s ears perked up when someone mentioned sabotage, but Charlie quickly shut that person down and reminded everyone to refrain from floating unsubstantiated theories. Their job was to follow the trail of facts and report back.
But Martin felt encouraged by this. There were others who thought this could be sabotage. What percentage had Natalie said? Fifty? That was good enough for him. To be honest, even ten percent would have been good enough for him. Murderers were not going scot-free on his watch, and definitely not when they were responsible for taking Julie away from him. He felt anger flare up inside him, but a few deep breaths calmed him down and allowed the emotions to subside.
“Do we have a video feed of the accident?” someone at the table asked.
“We do, and we’ll make it available to you all. Please watch it later; the time here is invaluable,” Charlie said.
But there was a murmur of dissent, and Charlie had to relent. He ordered the video to be played. The room darkened, and at one end of the room, a video feed from a Street Sentinel started running. The accident had happened at night under foggy conditions, and the quality of the video reflected that. A white van and a black AV entered the tunnel. Then the view switched to a camera inside the tunnel. The van approached the camera. Behind it, the black AV was partially visible.
Looking at the video, Martin felt a lump in his throat, and an intense yearning for Julie flooded him. He fought his emotions and tried to focus on the screen. The black vehicle shuddered, or so he thought, but he was not sure. The view was obscured by the van in front. The camera view switched again. Now it was looking at the tunnel exit from the other side. The van and the AV approached the exit. A red mobile home approached them, going in the opposite direction. The final shot was of the black AV hitting the guardrail and flipping up into the air. A large tree branch blocked the rest of the view, and they couldn’t see the AV plunge down into the ravine. The lights came back on. Martin blinked and tried to put a blank expression over his distraught face.
“We should interview people in that van and the mobile home,” someone said.
“Do we have their whereabouts?” another voice asked.
“Yes, we do, and we are going to interview them all,” Charlie said. “Both vehicles have been traced to their destinations.”
Charlie quickly concluded the rest of the business. “I want to remind everyone that a draft report of findings is due in thirty days. Please submit it to the board for review by the due date. If there is any evidence or indication of sabotage or criminal intent…” Charlie paused. “Please notify me immediately.”
Martin felt encouraged by Charlie’s comment. He saw Charlie scan the faces at the table and stop at him. Pointing directly at Martin, he said, “Representing the local precinct, we have Detective Martin Stump with us here today.”
Martin smiled and waved. He felt self-conscious at the attention.
Charlie continued. “The incident happened in his jurisdiction, and any criminal investigation, if that turns out to be the case, will be conducted under Detective Stump’s supervision.”
“We want a quick resolution,” the representative from Lott Enterprises said.
Someone chuckled. “Hurting the stock prices.”
Charlie ignored the side talk and called the meeting to an end. He asked Martin to accompany him to his office. He wanted to review the process if a criminal investigation was opened.
As Charlie and Martin walked down the hallway, the representative from Lott Enterprises caught up with them.
“Mr. Doud, Mr. Doud,” he said. The man was short and portly, and he breathed heavily as he spoke. “Sir, I just want you to know that I have personal assurances from Mr. Lott himself. We will make every resource available for this investigation. But please ensure the investigation doesn’t drag on forever. If there is anything you need, call me without hesitation.”
“I will, Mr. Blythe,” Charlie said. He quickly got rid of the ingratiating representative and asked Martin about taking a detour to the coffee shop.
“Just watch these guys,” Charlie said. “All of them—Lott Enterprises, the component suppliers, software providers. They all know that they are at our mercy. If we want, we can squeeze them hard, and they will offer anything, do anything.” Charlie winked at Martin. “And I mean anything, to resolve this case as soon as possible.”
Martin said nothing. He was just getting to know the man, and he wondered if his earlier assessment of Charlie being the right person for the job was correct. He appeared corrupt and insensitive to Martin’s loss.
After getting their coffee, they made their way toward Charlie’s office.
“There is big money involved,” Charl
ie said. “They know we are doing the hard, thankless work, so they don’t mind making our lives a little easier. You know what I mean?”
Martin changed the topic. “You really don’t think this could be sabotage?”
Charlie Doud let out a loud laugh and alarmed an elderly lady passing by. He took a sip from his cup and said, “Definitely not ruling that out, but AV systems have matured, Martin. Relentless hacking from the initial days has hardened the systems. I’ll be really surprised if it turns out to be sabotage.”
Charlie looked at Martin with evaluating eyes. “At this point, my money is on a black swan event. We are going step-by-step through all the systems, in the hopes that we’ll discover another of those rare black swan events. It’s unfortunate for those who are caught in it, but their sacrifices are never in vain. We ultimately find and address those vulnerabilities for all of humanity.”
Charlie pushed open the door of his office.
TWELVE
CHARLIE’S OFFICE WAS large but bare bones. There was a battered desk in the middle, along with a green swivel chair. A large Living Wall, which was being used as a whiteboard, occupied an entire side. It was full of notes, diagrams, complex equations, and photos from the accident site.
Charlie sat down in the worn-out chair and loosened his tie. Then carefully, he started folding his sleeves. The place was very impersonal. No photos, no knickknacks, no coffee mug, nothing.
“New office?” Marin asked.
“Yes,” Charlie said without looking up. “My real office is in the other building. Since I’m going to be here a lot, we figured it’s best for me to have an office here.”
“Looks like you’ve been busy.” Martin pointed at the whiteboard.
Charlie chuckled. “All thanks to Paige Callaghan. You know anything about her?”
“The girl? Not really. Julie had only recently taken up this private tutoring job. She was happy. It freed her from having to teach at the school,” Martin said, a little mawkish.
“That girl was an heiress of Callaghan Enterprises, worth billions. The case is under a spotlight. I have to get to the bottom of it, as fast as I can,” Charlie said and sighed heavily.
“What if it’s not a technical failure? It could be sabotage, intentional.”
Charlie became serious. “Listen, Martin, can you do me a favor, please? I’m not saying it couldn’t be sabotage; it’s quite possible. But the last thing I want is a rumor mill that Paige Callaghan was murdered. Do you realize what a headache that would cause?”
“I’m just saying it’s a possibility…”
“You’re not the only one saying that.”
“Who else?”
“Rebekah Callaghan,” Charlie said. “My inbox is overflowing with messages from her, and I’ve heard she can be a real pain.”
“Who’s this woman?”
“The girl’s mother. Former Miss Universe, top model, married Brett, patriarch of Callaghan Enterprises.” Charlie rattled off details about her. “Rebekah is his second wife, twenty years his junior. They met at a yacht party, had a fling. She became pregnant, and to everyone’s surprise, they got married.”
“I see. What is she saying?”
“I haven’t talked to her yet. I’ve been avoiding her. But she has left messages saying her daughter was murdered.”
“We should talk to her. Let’s hear what she has to say.” Martin felt encouraged. This definitely was a promising development.
“I just want to do my job. I don’t want to deal with the rich crowd,” Charlie said.
“I’ll handle it,” Martin said. He wanted to know what Rebekah had to say.
“That’ll be nice,” Charlie said. “I have done some background research. You might want to take a look at it before we speak with her.” Charlie handed a tablet to Martin.
Martin scanned through the notes. Mr. Callaghan had died in a skydiving accident. He had left behind a surprising will. He’d divided his wealth between his two children: sixty percent to Dean, his son from his first marriage, and forty percent to Paige. Rebekah had received only a trust fund. Generous for a good, comfortable life, it was nothing extravagant. A section was highlighted. If either of the children died and that child didn’t have a family, then his or her share of Callaghan enterprises would revert to the other child.
“That’s interesting,” Martin said. “Dean is going to have full control of the corporation.”
“He’s already running it. He took over the management right after the senior Callaghan’s death.” Charlie lowered his voice. “Rebekah sits on the board and casts votes on behalf of Paige. She’s been a thorn in Dean’s side, blocks most of his proposals. They can’t stand each other.”
“Interesting,” Martin said.
“Should we call her then?” Charlie asked.
“Sure. Let’s do it,” Martin said. Things were starting to move, and he liked that. It took his mind away from thinking of Julie.
Charlie asked his digital assistant to call Rebekah. In a few minutes, the Living Wall turned black, then a video feed of a young woman appeared on the screen. Rebekah Callaghan looked like she was in her midtwenties.
It was easy to tell that she had undergone expensive rejuvenation therapy through blood transfusion. There were telltale signs—deep eye sockets and sagging earlobes. She had probably had multiple sessions. What a vampire, feeding off the blood of the young. Martin felt disgusted.
Rebekah flicked a strand of hair from her face. With smoky ice-blue eyes and sharp, angular cheekbones, she looked more like a sculpture than a human. Martin wondered what that rich patriarch had found so appealing in something so artificial.
Charlie spoke respectfully. “Mrs. Callaghan, I’m sorry for your loss. I got your message. How can I help you?”
“Are you leading the investigation?” Mrs. Callaghan asked.
“Yes, ma’am, I am,” Charlie said.
“Have you found anything?”
“It’s still early days—”
She cut him off. “Do you have any idea who did this? Any leads?”
“I’m afraid NTSB investigation is a slow, methodical—”
“Have you interrogated Dean yet?”
“Mrs. Callaghan.” Martin came to the rescue. “Why do you want us to interrogate Dean?”
Rebekah stopped in her tracks. She jerked her head to look at Martin and eyed him suspiciously with her smoky eyes. Then she let off a torrent. “Simple, dummies! He is the only person who benefits from my daughter’s death. Are you guys sleeping or what?”
“Are you saying Dean engineered this accident?” Martin asked in a firm, professional voice.
“Yes, I am.”
“Do you have any evidence? Any proof to back up your claims, ma’am?”
Mrs. Callaghan was quiet, but only for a moment. “Are you going to interrogate him?” she demanded.
“Mrs. Callaghan, we don’t operate like that,” Charlie said.
“This is frustrating. You’ll see that I’m right.” Abruptly, Mrs. Callaghan disappeared from the screen. The Living Wall reverted to the whiteboard with its arrows and squiggles.
Charlie looked at Martin. “You see what I’m talking about? Who has the energy to deal with these people?”
“I think we should meet with Dean,” Martin said.
“Sure. You’re the detective,” Charlie said. “I’ll arrange for an appointment.”
THIRTEEN
NEXT WEEK, EARLY morning, Charlie called Martin out of the blue. He was going to Lott’s lab for a technical briefing. Apparently, they had uncovered a promising lead. Would Martin be interested?
Martin considered that for a second. Normally, he would not be interested in anything technical. But life was anything but normal now. He was fully cognizant of the fact that solving this case would require wading through technical mumbo jumbo. He sighed heavily. If that was what it took, then so be it. He quickly got dressed and headed for Lott’s lab.
The place looked like a stack of
concrete Lego blocks, and inside, it was cavernous. Charlie was waiting for Martin at the reception. With him was another individual, a bird-like man with a thin, angular face and bushy eyebrows. Martin was introduced to Dr. Jared Cabrera, chief scientist at Lott’s lab.
“Jared is one of the leading experts in autonomous vehicles,” Charlie said. “We go back years. I’ve pestered him a lot with my investigations.”
“You’re always welcome, Charlie; it’s never an annoyance,” Dr. Cabrera said gracefully and signaled them to follow him. He ushered them into an elegant conference room with dark-mahogany paneling and high-back leather chairs. Martin liked the decor.
“Please make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen,” Dr. Cabrera said and scurried over to a spot with an open laptop. Martin pulled a chair opposite him and sank down in the plush furniture. Charlie kept standing, though; he was searching for something.
“What happened to your stash, Jared?” Charlie asked.
Dr. Cabrera let out a chirpy little laugh. “I got in trouble, Charlie. This is the office, so can’t keep it out in the open. It’s hidden in there.” He pointed toward a cupboard in the back corner.
“Dr. Cabrera,” Martin said, “do you mind giving me some background on autonomous vehicles?”
Dr. Cabrera turned his attention to the man sitting across from him. “Sure, I would love to,” he said. “There are approximately thirty different computer systems in a typical AV. They control four basic functions: perception, vehicle control, localization, and planning.”
“Now, tell me like I’m five.” Martin grinned and shifted in his seat. It was time he took the bull by the horns. He had to make sense of the technology.
