“We need to keep going back to the crime scene,” Salvi said, echoing the words Stanlevski would always say to her. “Someone cut the word ‘pure’ into her. Someone was angry at her for breaking her vows and having sex with Tobias. Someone found out and they wanted to punish her.”
“Or someone just got a thrill out of doing those things to someone they thought was pure,” Mitch countered. “You’re only seeing it the way you want to see it, Salvi.”
She stared back at him, as he continued to eye her curiously.
“You wanna pin something on the preacher or one of those religious folk,” he said. “You’re making the crime fit the suspect. That’s bad police work, Salvi.”
She looked away from him, glancing around the restaurant as she took another drink to put out the steam that had risen at his words. A new song began to play. This time a choir sang in a language she couldn’t understand. Within moments a family sitting two tables over began to sing along, loudly, while others watched on smiling and nodding. Mitch eyed them strangely, then turned back to her.
“How did you know those bible verses?” he asked.
She moved her eyes back to his; dark in this lighting yet shining with intrigue.
“Were you one of those girls once?” he continued to prod. “Good. Holy. Pure.”
“What’s it to you?”
He shrugged. “Just curious. You’re perpetually quiet. Reserved. Restrained. Yesterday when you comforted Tobias Brook and quoted those Bible passages, that’s the first insight I’ve had into my partner in nearly four months. Well, that, and when you were snapping at the preacher.”
“I spout some useless Bible passages and you think that’s me showing a part of myself?” she said.
“Prove me wrong, then,” he said. “I’ll lay my cards down if you do.”
She shook her head, looking away again. As she did, her eyes caught on a man and woman walking through the front door of the restaurant. It was Preacher Vowker and what she assumed was his wife.
“Well, well,” Mitch said, eyeing them. “It’s the preacher.” He looked back at Salvi. “You’re not gonna start a fight, are you?”
“That’s your job, isn’t it?”
He stared at her. “Only if people ask for it, Salvi. And the preacher’s not there yet.”
Other than a nod of acknowledgment, the preacher did not speak to them, choosing to sit on the other side of the restaurant. Many of the other diners got up from their seats to talk to him, shake his hand. One woman even bowed and kissed his hand. The Preacher was a rock star in this religious town.
“It’s odd, don’t you think?” Salvi said. “This being a pullaway town and yet they let the Solme Complex get built close by, then the SlingShot station. Attis Solme doesn’t appear to be as against technology as the good preacher. That must cause some friction.”
Mitch shrugged. “Well, it depends if Attis is lining the preacher’s pockets.”
They exchanged a look but said nothing. In fact they ate their dinners in relative silence, noticing other tables stopping to pray before each course of their meal. Mitch had a few more drinks and Salvi noticed people in the restaurant giving them furtive glances; curious to the strangers in town. The city folk dressed in black with their high-tech gadgets and their black devil car. The detectives here to solve the heinous murder of good little Sharon Gleamer. But so far, they hadn’t solved anything.
Salvi threw her napkin on the table. “I’m done. I’m going to bed,” she said, standing up. Mitch watched her but didn’t move.
“You’re staying?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, I’m going to peoplewatch for a bit. Maybe have a nightcap.”
Salvi shook her head and left. She stepped outside into the cool night air and glanced around the streets of Bountiful. It felt like a ghost town, the quiet, the open space. It made her feel uneasy. Her eyes caught on the large green BioLume cross adorning the Children of Christ church a couple of blocks down and she felt a shiver run down her spine. As she crossed the street she turned her eyes back to the motel and suddenly noticed a hooded figure loitering near the Raider.
“Hey,” she called out, lighting up her badge. “Keep walking.”
The hooded figure quickly walked away, disappearing behind a building further down. She moved up to the Raider and peered in, but everything looked fine. She knew it was virtually impossible to break into anyway. It was a nice-looking car and high-spec for a place like this, so she guessed it was bound to draw attention. It was probably just a curious kid.
She shrugged it off, throwing a final glance back to the restaurant. As she did, she saw Mitch still sitting in the booth, sipping a fresh drink and watching her.
Chapter Eight
The Second Coming
Salvi knocked on the door to Mitch’s room. She waited a few seconds, then knocked again. He finally opened the door, holding one hand up to shade his eyes from the morning light; the room behind him was dark. He’d thrown on his jeans but hadn’t quite gotten around to doing them up, and he was shirtless, his hair all messy like he just got out of bed.
“So, you had a few nightcaps, then?” she asked plainly.
He lowered his hand, shot her a hungover glance then turned and walked to his bed. She eyed his lean, toned back and saw a long red scratch running down the right side.
“What the hell did you do, Detective?” she asked.
He looked back at her as he grabbed his shirt from the floor beside the bed.
She held her hand up. “No, forget it. I don’t want to know.” She threw him a can of deodorant and he caught it. “We gotta go, so it’s shower in a can for you.”
He used it, then pulled on his shirt. “We got time for breakfast?” he asked as he moved into the bathroom and washed his face and rinsed his mouth.
“There’s coffee and mints waiting on top of the Raider.” She smiled. “Let’s go.”
As they drove along the road heading back to the Solme Complex, Salvi studied him. He’d insisted on driving again.
“You gonna be up for the interviews today?” she asked.
He glanced at her, sipping his coffee. “Of course.”
“You don’t look like you had much sleep.”
“I didn’t.”
“Maybe I should do them today.”
“You heard Dr Remmell, they don’t want you to do them.”
“So? It’s our investigation.”
Mitch threw her another glance then turned his eyes to the road ahead again. “The Subjugates are property of the Solme Complex. We want to talk to them, we gotta follow their rules.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who listens to rules.”
Mitch looked at her. “And you strike me as someone who does.”
“Look, if we want to see if any of these Subjugates have cracks, we should put me in front of them,” Salvi shrugged.
“No,” he said. “I can handle it.”
“Can you?”
“Yes. I can.”
She stared at him as he drove, and he flashed her glances back.
“Salvi,” he said. “I didn’t get much sleep, but it’s not what you’re thinking. I had a few drinks, sure, but I got back to my room early enough. I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Why?”
Mitch averted his eyes, sipped his coffee again and shrugged. “I don’t know. Going over the case, I guess.”
Salvi continued to stare at him.
Mitch looked back at her. “I can handle it … Brentt.”
Salvi stared at him. He hadn’t used her surname before. She waved her hand with an indifferent air. “Fine.”
He analyzed her for a moment. “Open the glove compartment. Pull out the black container.”
She did. It was rectangular in shape but with curved edges. He reached out and placed his fingertips on the top of it, a screen lit up as it read his prints, and the box opened up. Inside, wedged in foam surrounds, was a needle and three vials.
“What th
e hell is this?” she asked.
“It’s called ReVitalize,” he said. “It’s basically a vitamin and mineral solution with some other good stuff added, designed to give you a kick. Wanna load one up and stick it in my arm?”
She looked at him. “Excuse me?”
He stared back. “It’s legal, Salvi. And a genuine cure for hangovers and lack of sleep.”
“I know what it is, Mitch. I’m assuming, given the fingerprint access, you have a prescription for it?”
“Yes,” he said dryly, “hence the fingerprint access. Prescription is legal and in my name. So, load it and shoot me in the top of my arm, would you.”
“Put the car on autodrive and do it yourself.”
“You know I don’t like autodrive.”
“It’s what the Raider is designed to do.”
“I like to stay in control.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t need one of these shots.”
“Fine,” he said. “Hand it here.”
“You’re going to do it while you drive?”
“Well, you won’t help me.”
Salvi glanced between the road and Mitch. “Do you have a death wish or something? Is this a cry for help, Mitch?”
“Maybe I like to live on the edge,” he said, a smile curling the corner of his mouth. “Does that bother you? I know you like to play safe.”
Salvi gave him a plain stare. “You want me to stick you? I’ll stick you.” She studied the label on the vial, then pulled out the needle and began to prepare it. “You take this every day?” she asked, studying the loaded needle in her hands as she shot a little fluid out.
Mitch shook his head. “Only when I’ve had a rough night.”
“Why didn’t you have this yesterday morning then? You looked a little rough.”
“Because I didn’t need it then. Besides, I was still trying to figure out how you’d take it. Me shooting ReVitalize. There’s still a little stigma over it.”
“That’s because people run themselves near death, then shoot up to revive. It’s a lazy way of taking care of yourself. It also enables the partiers to party harder. Of course there’s stigma. They’re saying the vita-heads are almost as bad as the tech-heads.”
“Oh, come on. That’s bullshit. Shooting vitamins and minerals and whoring yourself for tech are two different things.”
“Some people whore themselves for the vitamins too. They’re not cheap and it’s hard to get a prescription.”
Mitch gave her an unaffected look.
“Anyway,” Salvi said, “what makes you think I’m cool with it now?”
He shrugged. “I guess you showed me a little of yourself with the Bible verses, so I’m showing you a little of myself.” He angled his shoulder toward her. “Shoot me.”
“Shoot yourself,” Salvi said, holding out the needle.
“I’m driving.”
“Autodrive, pull over, or wait a few minutes until we get there.”
“And have people see me shooting up in the Solme Complex’s parking lot?”
“You know, if we weren’t running late because of you, you could’ve done this in the privacy of your hotel room. What did you get up to last night?”
“Come on, Salvi,” he said ignoring the question. “Live a little. Stop being such a good girl. Take a risk once in a while.”
“I’m a cop, Mitch. I don’t take risks unless I have to.”
“We take risks every single day.” He looked back at the road. “Look, if you’re not game–”
She stabbed the needle into his arm.
He grunted in pain. “Don’t have much of a bedside manner, do you?”
“No,” she said, injecting the fluid into his arm, then yanking it out. “And if I find out that I just shot you with something other than ReVitalize, I will take you down.”
His eyes glinted. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”
By the time they arrived at the Solme Complex, Mitch was a new man. Whatever was in that needle worked fast and brought him to life. He looked fresher than she did.
Serene-41 was there to greet them again. He escorted them through to the same interrogation room they had been in yesterday. Salvi stood in the control room with Doctor Remmell, while Mitch sat waiting for the caretaker to present Subjugate-27, aka Vincent Margola, the gruesome hitman.
When they finally arrived, it was another guard escorting the Subjugate, not Bander. According to Remmell this was guard Jones, Bander’s second. The man stood about 5’11 and weighed maybe 200 pounds, with a closely cropped blond haircut and moustache.
Salvi turned her eyes to Margola as he took his chair. The man appeared rather unassuming. Yes, he was a Subjugate soon to graduate to Serene, but even then, he didn’t look like the monster she expected to see. Over the years, she’d learned how to pick violent men. The way they carried themselves, the look in their eyes, even those with overt politeness and friendliness – she could often sense something dangerous, something not-quite-right underneath the facade. She’d read Margola’s file and the man who did those things, who’d butchered those people so gruesomely, didn’t seem like the same man sitting in that room.
“Subjugate-27,” Mitch said. “I’m Detective Grenville and I’d like to ask you some questions about a resident of Bountiful.”
“Yes,” Margola said, in a calm, even voice.
“A woman by the name of Sharon Gleamer attended the same church you did. The one run by the Children of Christ. Do you know her?”
Margola stared blankly back and Mitch slid his arm across the table, displaying the same hologram he’d shown the others the day before. Sharon Gleamer beamed a smile at them in traces of white light.
“Oh,” Margola said in recognition, although the emotion was hollow. “Yes. I saw her at church.”
“How often did you see her at church?”
“Once a week for mass,” Margola said. “I also saw her in the hall on other days.”
“And what would you do at the hall?”
“Clean the yard. Arrange the donations for distribution to the city. Such things as that.”
“Why do you go to mass?”
“It is good for us,” he said. “It shows us the enlightened path.”
“The enlightened path?” Mitch asked.
Margola gave a small, pleasant smile. “It keeps us true to God.”
Mitch stared at him.
“We Subjugates once walked a less honest path,” Margola said, slowly, calmly. “We have turned from that. We wish to be Serene and lead others on the enlightened path.”
“Just like that?” Mitch asked. “You go from brutally murdering people to suddenly on the enlightened path?”
Dr Remmell immediately leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. “Detective! Caution.”
Margola marked a sign of the cross upon him, as Mitch glanced over to the mirrored window.
“I don’t understand the cautions?” Salvi asked Remmell in the control room. “Surely they need to be tested, prepared for the real world.”
“The Subjugates in their later days of treatment are not reminded of their past. It is all we talk to them about in the first few years. During the latter stages of their treatment, once we’ve wrenched out every ounce of pleasure for their previous crimes, we focus on erasing their former selves. Part of their treatment once they reach a certain point is to never mention what they once did ever again. Certain words, or triggers, must be avoided to bleach their meaning out of their systems.”
“But how can you erase their memories?”
Dr Remmell looked at her in such a way, that for a moment she thought he was Serene too. “Through years of finely tuned treatment and through the Subjugate’s sheer willpower. Through their trained, selective remembrance. When the memories no longer excite them, when the memories of their previous crimes only cause them fear or repulsion, it is easy to forget. To avoid what causes them harm. The human body will do what it must to survive. We erase their pleasure and in
turn they erase their own memories. They disassociate from their old selves in order for their present self to survive.” He studied her. “Have you ever been so drunk that you’ve done something you regretted the next day?”
“Who hasn’t?” Salvi said.
“I’m not talking little things, I’m talking big things. Have you ever done something that you were ashamed of the next day? That you regretted horribly?”
Salvi stared back but didn’t answer.
“Regrets, embarrassments, lies, cheating, they’re all swept under the rug out of sight. People work hard to forget the things they’d rather not remember. This is similar, but of course much more extreme. We make them abhor their previous actions and offer the ability to be able to forget them. They all accept Christ into their lives in order to forget that which causes them pain.”
“So, you torture them until they break, make them come to detest their previous actions, then you offer them absolution if they turn to religion and pray away the memory of their past selves. You make them sell their soul to God in order to stop the pain.”
Remmell eyed her through his dark-framed glasses. “They don’t sell their soul. They offer their souls. Voluntarily. That’s the power of it.”
“And if they don’t offer you their soul, you torture them until they do,” Salvi said. “You realize that could possibly be a motive right there. If one of them attacked Sharon Gleamer, that would call into question your treatment and cause a lot of problems for the Solme Complex. And this place, and your torture, could be shut down.”
“You say torture like we do it for fun. It’s not torture. It’s treatment.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know. You haven’t shown me the treatment yet. Prove it.”
Remmell turned back to the console. “I’m afraid Mayor Solme has not approved that.”
“Why not?”
“Because, as I told you the other day, it is not for the faint of heart.”
“And as I told you, Doctor Remmell, I’m a cop. I can handle it.”
He looked at her. “I don’t think you can, Detective. I watch it every day and still I struggle.”
“Well, until I see it with my own eyes, if the treatment is that physical it makes them vomit at a mere thought, I’m going to call it torture.”
The Subjugate Page 15
