by Ivan Bering
Jason was confident and charming. He poured drinks and kept up an easy dialogue: negotiated a price for a few nights of company and gave the girl the money, at which time she appeared to relax and accepted the drink.
# # #
Wes complained. “How come he hasn’t phoned up an escort agency? He normally doesn’t wait this long. What’s wrong? I don’t like this. Is he still in the hotel?
Terry started going through the current Westin security tapes, all the footage, the hallways, elevators, the bars, the works. See if you can find him, either with the dress or as a man. Shit, I think he changed this agenda.”
# # #
The girl in room 202 began to have some doubts. She had been in the business for a few years and prided herself on being able to spot the crazies. This guy had been fine all evening, but as they started drinking his front appeared to be slowing dissolving. She couldn’t even figure out what it was. Was it body language? The damn smug smile? The perfect teeth? She didn’t want to gulp the drink, but she did.
# # #
Terry found him on the hotel tapes. “Sure as hell that’s our man. He made a pickup in the bar, almost an hour ago. They’re in the elevator cameras and the hallway to his room. The son of a bitch changed his pattern. We’re going to have to go in; we can’t wait. Another interesting development, he doesn’t give a shit if he is captured on camera.
Wes knew he had to act fast. “Ok guys, he’s changed his routine: no agency and no dummy room set up. Doesn’t care if he is recognized? Maybe he has a new routine in mind and a method for getting the body out of the hotel. God damn it, we have to go to plan B, right now. Let’s move it. Plan B. Plan B.”
# # #
All the girl, Lisa, could think of was: mistake, big mistake. Jason stroked her, laughing and talking nonsense about how fate arranged for them to be together before he moved out of the city for good. The smile chilled her and scared her to the point where it felt like some type of paralysis had taken over her limbs. She could barely talk, and Lisa wasn’t sure she would be able to walk to the door, let alone run down the hall.
What happened? He changed from charming to creepy in minutes. Was it the alcohol? Or was he just nervous? She wanted out but couldn’t think of how to manage it.
He sat between her and the door; besides he had secured the door, the chain on and the deadbolt thrown. If she tried to rush to the door, it would take too long to get the door open, that is assuming her legs would work. Shit, here he goes again, ranting; she missed the first part; she was too busy being scared.
“Lisa, it’s time you started taking some of your clothes off, not all of them, just some, come on now.” He gave her the big smile. God, did she wet herself? She was too afraid to look and couldn’t feel anything. She tried a small stall.
“I have to go to the bathroom first. I think it’s the drinks you have been feeding me.” She got up on a shaky set of legs, and shaky wasn’t because of the alcohol. Then she remembered they were a couple; she should be OK, the killers were a couple.
Once in the bathroom she used a cold, wet face cloth to try and shock herself into a plan but nothing registered; in fact, her mind seemed to be in parallel with her body, in some blank stupor. Shit, shits, shit……. she knew this bastard was a bad one but how to get out. Maybe a quickie might get him onto another track. More booze? Nothing was registering as a good solution.
He started gentle taps on the bathroom door, “Come on Lisa let’s start the party. You can’t stay in there all night. Come on.” Lisa came out and stayed next to the hotel room door, she didn’t want to stray from the door. He pulled her to him, and they were pressed together in the short, narrow hallway that lead from the hotel room door to the main part of the room.
# # #
A knock and a voice from outside in the hall interrupted him.
“Room service for 202, dinner for two.” Jason, still holding Lisa, looked through the door’s spy hole and saw a hotel waiter with a full cart. “There must be a mistake I never ordered any room service….go away.”
At that moment Lisa’s brain flashed. “Oh Jason, I’m hungry, and we’re in for a big night; why not grab the tray? It’ll be like a surprise package; we’ll get a surprise dinner, menu selections unknown; come on be a sport.”
The waiter called out again. Jason decided she’s right it would be a good way to end the evening, dinner for one. He opened the door to allow the waiter to wheel in the cart. The waiter got the cart in and turned to get Jason to sign for the meal; at this moment Lisa bolted for the door. Jason almost knocked the waiter over as he jumped forward and grabbed Lisa.
When he turned, Manuel, the waiter, pointed the gun at his head. “Jason, give it up.”
Even at the postmortem review of the arrest, it was difficult to figure out the sequence of event. But the three people in the small entry way of the room ended up twisted together like some puzzle. It appears: first, the girl pulled hard to get out of Jason’s grip; this action spun Jason into the cart, which Manuel tried to keep from spilling on top of him.
The girl got away and ran out the door and right into Karen, who moved her down the hall. Jason, now on top of Manuel, used the steak knife from the cart to stab Manuel in the neck; he hurried off the floor with the bleeding knife in his hand. His turn to get out of the room. There was an obstacle in the doorway. Terry glared at him and started to provide the standard warning. “ Police…”
He didn’t finish his warning and Jason charged; Terry’s shot dropped him in mid-stride, and the sound roared through the room and the hallway. The blood from two sources drenched the carpet in the restricted space. Jason died before he hit the carpet.
Manuel bled profusely but had been lucky. Most of the knife blows hit the far side of his shoulder and upper arm, and only a few strikes hit his neck. Wes’s preparation included a standby medical emergency team who were working on the bleeding detective within minutes.
Manuel was going to be fine, but he would never hear the end of his sojourn as a waiter where instead of a tip, the customer stabbed him with a steak knife.
# # #
At the hospital, Wes waited for assurances from the medical team. Heavy footsteps in corridor alerted him; Charlie arrived with a smile, handshake and more news.
“When you get back to your desk, you’ll find the rest of Jason’s history. Judge Stephen was able to force some sealed records to be opened.
The son of a bitch’s problems started in his late teens, prior to that he was an honor student and star of the high school track team and baseball team. The psychiatrists and his mother think the origin may have been the accident at a baseball game, a freak occurrence. His helmet fell off as he tried to steal third, and a major collision occurred, resulting in a serious head injury. At first everything seemed all right, but soon his mother noticed voices coming from his room when she knew no one else was in the room.
Some of the police reports hint there may be other factors at play, both his father and older brother had reputations as neighborhood bullies, fast with fists and boots. The question often asked: where did the head injury occur, on the playing field or at home?
In any case, young Jason had visitor, a friend…….a partner……. no one else could see or hear her. This is not someone he was prepared to share with anyone. Jason developed an attachment to his female partner, discussed his problems with her, did his homework with her and wouldn’t make decisions without a consultation. His mother insisted on further medical intervention.
It’s about this time his father fell down the basement stairs and almost didn’t survive the fall. His older brother witnessed the accident, and it traumatized him; it became a life-changing event for him……… he stopped being a bully and moved out of the city. The analysis goes on for pages, but I think young Jason realized the only way to be released from treatment was to cooperate and give all the right answers.
Only one of the psychiatrists disagreed and refused to stop sessions, but the treatm
ent team overrode him, and Jason was declared cured. The minority opinion: Jason’s problems were more serious. You can read it all …..I stopped after about dozen pages.
The reason this record never surfaced, during the west coast police interviews and background checks, is because it all happened when he was a teenager, and it’d been sealed. You look wiped Wes…. You ok?”
Wes smiled. The last thing he wanted to do was to read a long psychiatrist’s report about a sick teenager. Charlie fired one last question.
“Which room is Manuel’s?”
CHAPTER 43: Charlie’s Log: a Watcher
Earlier this morning Sam called and woke me with a warning.
He felt the necessity to remind me of Emma’s appointment as the supervisor for the remaining S3 Interrogations at Fort Green. His analysis: Emma, as a scientist, has always depended on logic; she will ensure all scans are completed by the book, no guilty to escape, no innocent to be executed. Dear Emma will be thorough, not prone to allow minor deviations to become part of her work. Anyway, that’s his analysis and you can guess what his advice was.
After a short, boring drive I’m now in the prison parking lot, and I’m trying to be casual but it’s not working. The milieu at Fort Green Prison rattles me; in the parking lot a traffic jam of ambulances line up to accept bodies. I was warned officials don’t know how many are going to be executed each day so they always order a surplus of ambulances.
The local firms can’t deal with all the work. Some of the bodies will be delivered to crematoriums a couple of hours away from the city. I walk the gantlet of ambulances; it’s a hot sunny afternoon, and all the drivers are out, leaning or sitting on vehicles. They’re smoking or just filling in the time with the usual gossip.
There must be something going on because the guards are in a full battle dress. I don’t see any prisoners in the exercise yard, but it sounds like the prison symphony is playing, plates and cups rattling against the bars. When I ask the guard at the first gate about the mini-riot, he shakes his head and gives me a small smile.
“Last night we received the latest Prison Reform amendment; this pissed off many our guests and things are escalating. I see you haven’t heard ….let me summarize.
First, all releases are on hold, even if the original sentence has been served. They’re going after repeat offenders. Fucking good news, if you ask me.
Second, all prisoners will have to go through an S1 interrogation. But the part which appears to have the boys most worked up is the definition of an ‘injury’ has been adjusted: the impact on the victim will be the main focus. The example is given: a con artist who has repeatedly wiped out the life savings of people could be viewed in the same manner as a serial killer. Shit, I can’t believe it.
Our guests are really upset…an interrogation revealing three or four serious fraud cases could lead to an S3 brain scan….shit …we will be locked down all weekend.”
I begin to understand. Jesus, I hope I’m swifter when get to the Watchers’ station. I get the directions and begin a slow walk. It’s a long walk, through many gates before I get to the assigned room. The good news is they are expecting me and are ready.
I start with the debriefing material, including a live recording of an actual S3 interrogation. The package is impressive. It’s well organized and thorough. I understand what is about to happen. Son of a bitch. I have to keep it together for just a few more hours. Ron Bowen will be the last Fort Green prisoner to be interrogated. This gives me time to think about what I’m about to do, that damn Monk.
A Historian will be the only other Watcher, and it’s John Wojecki. I’m not sure this is good news or not. John certainly helped us with the Five Star Couple, but these Historians are not known to be the type who will bond with other staff. John will use his expertise to move the scanner as soon as his interpretation of the scene tells him the probe is in the wrong time window.
He does not overly concern himself with the details of the crime. His preparation is to review dress fashions, car models, news events which were current in the relevant time periods. I think he knows I’ve arrived and am in the room, but I don’t get much of an acknowledgment. Good news?
Each Watcher has his own viewing screen, supplemented by a gigantic screen mounted on the back wall. I’m in the main room and see a set of large buttons next to my station. Each button is covered by a bright, bold label. One label reads ‘AHEAD’. The other reads ‘BACK’. In addition, a small red switch is positioned near a microphone: this is to allow a ‘sign-off’ signal. This means we’ve seen the relevant images and the scan can be terminated.
The massive display almost fills the entire far wall which I’m facing; my control panel and individual monitor sit at my station. I’m allowed to decide which monitor I wish to use. I remember all the warnings about keeping focused on the event and not the technology. Christ, enough. I know it’s not a movie, and I have to make quick decisions.
Anytime I recognize a scene, I have to decide: before or after the shootings? Once the decision is made I press the proper button to signal the scanning team to move in the appropriate direction, go back in time or jump ahead.
The Historian will be doing the same thing. In case of a disagreement, the scene will play out until resolved. If the scanning team becomes concerned about the time issues, they will go with the Historian’s judgment.
Because of Amendment 33-2, if it looks like a crime scene, they will play it, regardless of the time frame being displayed. I’m told switching from one scene to another will not be instantaneous, and there may be a blank screen for 30 seconds, possibly up to five minutes, as they correctly reposition the probing head.
I’ve been drinking coffee all morning and didn’t stop when I got to the prison. Thank God it wasn’t beer or I would be gone. Wouldn’t that make a great scenario; a hammered Watcher, who doesn’t give a damn and can’t properly focus on the screen.
A buzzer sounds and the show begins. Jesus, here we go. The peripheral segments tend to be a bit fuzzy. And, as the scene plays out, it’s not a smooth transition from one frame to the next; it jerks along. You still can put it together but it’s not seamless like a TV program.
The first scene is obviously one from early in Ronald’s life as a toddler. I see a small pair of hands gripping the horizontal railings of a crib. I don’t see him, just his hands and arms. And I see an older woman, must be his grandmother, trying to sooth him with soft words. “Ronnie, my baby, hush my boy….”.
Jesus Christ, convict Ron as a baby. I’m floored; no matter how many times I heard the warnings about keeping the focus off the technology it’s impossible not to be overwhelmed. I'm seeing a read out of a guy’s memory cell. Christ, it’s fascinating; and I hear the voices as a young Ron cries and his grandmother tries to comfort him. I have to focus and get in the game: before I can move, a buzzer sounds indicating the Historian has pushed the forward button. I just concur with my ‘AHEAD’ button.
I get some recovery time; the screen remains blank for a few minutes and then another stream of images play on the screen. The earlier scans used an automated voice over to give Watchers assurances about blank screens and delays. This proved more of an irritant than a help and has been dropped.
The AHEAD command drove us too far into the future and memory displays Ron’s trial. My old partner, who took over the case, is on the stand with a judge almost leading his testimony. Poor Ron, he drew Judge Wilber Lewis, who was delighted with his nickname: Hang’em High Lewis. The man never had to buy a drink anytime he decided to do the rounds of cop bars.
I’m watching this as a TV program I can’t go on like this; I have to get over this feeling. It isn’t the technology; I seem to be thrown because we are invading someone’s memories and peeking into his private life. My hesitations and slow response could kill Ron. The Historian beats me to the ‘BACK” button.
We do a couple more jumps and I’m still a few seconds behind the Historian, but we have not had any disagreem
ents, and I’m improving. I’m surprised I’m able to recognize some of the time frames, even though they are not relevant to any crime. I can’t relax and wish we would get to the event. Is this taking too long?
The images in combination with the massive video display are almost like reliving the scene, and I understand why Watchers are often overwhelmed by the process. God, I wouldn’t want someone looking at what I have stored in my memory. The memory streams are realistic and detailed. It’s the voices I find the most disconcerting; they have a ghostly quality, as if they are surfacing from some distance source and being modulated through a long tunnel. This isn’t a good description, but it’s the best I can do.
We arrive. The wall fills with an image of my cousin’s police cruiser. I focus. I see Ronald’s image reflected in the windshield of the cruiser. Jesus, I can see myself peering out from the passenger window, a buzz cut for a hair style, a smooth-faced 17-year-old; I stare at my image. Was I ever that young?
I see my cousin get out of the cruiser and walk toward Ronald. Voices flood the room; my cousin is firm and it’s obvious Ronald is struggling with his speech. He says, he’s walking home which is a few blocks down the road; they continue talking; I see my cousin pointing and he says, “Go home….right now.”.
I’ve been slow, but I hit the ‘AHEAD’ button. The Historian allows it play for a few more seconds; the noise from down the road explodes across the screen. My cousin jumps into the cruise, and we are off down the road with Ron standing in our wake, obviously not part of the unfolding action. At this point, the Historian hits the ‘AHEAD’ button. I’m not sweating, but damn it, my hand is shaking. Did too much get displayed in the scanning room?
