by James Somers
“Well, I suppose.”
Michael and Richard both smiled innocently.
“Follow me, Officers.” Harvey led them through an adjacent glass door marked Mainframe Center. They walked through a cubicle system of computer stations, where people worked to maintain the transit system. Michael noticed a number of live security feeds displayed on flat screen monitors on the walls. Each of them was marked by the name of the station where the cameras were housed.
Harvey sat down at a workstation and began to call up the security files. “What day and time were you interested in seeing?”
“Well, the murders occurred between 11 p.m. and 11:30 p.m., last night. Let’s have a look about one hour before that. If the killer did travel on the train from Hilton, he would’ve needed some time to get all the way over to Proward Street Station,” Richard said.
“Well, I can already tell you, there won’t be very many people using the system during that time of night. The domestics are home by then. And most residents in Hilton use the HTS very little—especially so late.”
“The fewer people we’ll have to sift through,” Michael reasoned.
Harvey typed in the parameters for their search, waiting for the computer to recall the data. Video feed icon boxes filled the backlit screen, each with a still sample of video inside. “There are twenty stations in Hilton,” Harvey said.
“Let’s just take them alphabetically,” Michael said.
Harvey touched the cursor to the Acacia Street video feed icon, clicking to play the video for the appropriate time. The feed showed cleaning crews at work, but nothing else. Harvey seemed to be right, so far. When the video inside each station had finished, a street view began to play. Minimal traffic passed, but nothing more.
“You see?” Harvey said. “Hilton residents really don’t like using public transportation, if they can help it.”
Richard stared at the screen. “Let’s see the next one.”
The results were very similar—nothing of consequence. The next eighteen were all the same. Richard had started to pull his suit jacket back on, when Harvey commented on the current feed for Vineyard Street Station. “That’s odd,” he said.
“What is it?” Richard asked. He and Michael watched the screen over Harvey’s shoulders. The security manager used the cursor to back up the video in progress.
“Well, what do you know?” Michael said, smiling.
On the screen, a tall man, wearing a suit, and carrying a briefcase, walked into the Vineyard Street Subway Station. The time had been 10:33 p.m., when he approached the turnstiles. A security guard stood talking with the girl in the attendant booth. The guard spoke to the man, allowing him to go through. Then he returned to his conversation with the girl.
“How about the platform camera?” Michael asked.
Harvey selected the appropriate icon. On the screen, two security officers sat at a desk on the rear wall of the platform. The finely dressed patron stepped into view. The officers and the man acknowledged one another. Then the man waited for the next train, keeping his back to the security desk.
The train stopped at the platform and the man entered one of the cars. “Do we have any video inside the cars?” Richard asked.
Michael stroked his stubbly chin. “The electromagnets in the train tunnels interfere with the signal.”
“That’s right, Officer,” Harvey said. “We can’t put the cameras in the cars, for that reason.”
“That stinks,” Richard said. “The cameras were all stolen from Proward, so how do we know if this joker got off there?”
Michael smiled at his partner. “Process of elimination. Harvey, we’re going to check all of the platform video feeds from here, through Proward, and back again. I want to know this guy didn’t get off at any of those other places. That only leaves Proward Street.”
Richard smiled at his partner. “Good thinking, kid.”
“Wait, Harvey,” Michael said, pointing at the screen. “What camera is that?”
“It’s the street cam from Vineyard Street.” He selected it. In the street, sat a Lexus sedan.
“Well, what do you know?” Richard said.
Harvey backed up the video to the point where the tall man got out of the Lexus and went into the Vineyard Street Station.
“Our boy decided, for some reason, to leave his vehicle behind, and take a ride on the trains,” Michael said.
“Yeah, but who is he?”
Harvey grinned. “I believe I can answer that, gentlemen. He passed his Ident Ring over the turnstile scanner, as he went through.” Harvey tapped on the keyboard and the computer delivered the name of the individual in question. “Dr. Trenton Hallowed.”
Michael and Richard looked at each other, grinning. “Gotcha.”
5 DETAINED
Trenton Hallowed rummaged through equipment and supplies inside a white walled roomed—the home of dozens of lab animals. He pulled on a black cage, amid a cacophony of rattles, squeaks, howls, and scratches. The acrid smell of multiplied animal scents mingled with the pungent aroma of feces and urine. The door burst open, revealing a young lady in a Genetic Corp lab coat, wearing a smile, and waving a piece of paper.
“We’ve had all of the other invites to R.S.V.P., sir,” she said.
“Thanks, Carol.” He lifted the large cage. “Come help me with this, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh yeah, of course.” Carol grabbed the other end of the wire cage, helping him place it on the countertop. Inside, a white rat scurried from one side to the other.
“Don’t worry, Larry, you’ll be practically immortal by tomorrow,” Trenton said to the rat. Then to Carol, “I knew none of my colleagues would miss out on this.”
“I’ll bet they’re eating their hats for not coming onboard with your research, when they had the chance.”
“Just as they should be, Carol. I gave them plenty of opportunity to explore man’s future evolution with me, but they tried to discredit my research, instead. I may have been ostracized, but now they’ll come crawling to see what I’ve accomplished.”
They set the cage down on the counter. Carol looked longingly at him. “Dr. Hallowed, I just want you to know how thrilled I am to help you with your research.”
Trenton moved closer to her. “You just hang on, Carol, and we’ll go to the top, together.”
She kissed him, passionately. He returned it.
The door to the lab opened and three men stood in the doorway. “Dr. Hallowed, I tried to stop them, but they say they’re police officers,” a lab assistant said.
“What? You men aren’t allowed in here. You’ll have to leave, now.”
Michael ignored him, and walked inside the room. “Dr. Hallowed, my name is Detective Michael Stamos. This is my partner, Detective Link. You’re wanted downtown for questioning, regarding the murders of several people in a Donalee subway station.”
“What in the world would I be doing inside a Donalee subway station? I’m a geneticist, not a garbage collector. I live in Hilton, Detective. There’s no one, but criminals, living in Donalee.”
“I happen to live there, Dr. Hallowed,” Michael said.
Richard smiled at Trenton. “Yeah, me too, and I’m here to collect some garbage.”
Trenton sneered at him. “Officers, you’re mistaken.” He smiled at them. “The only reason someone like me would ever go to Donalee is to get robbed.”
“We’ll see,” Michael said, stepping aside, gesturing for Trenton to accompany them out of the room.
“And if I refuse to go with you?”
Richard pulled his handcuffs out, letting them dangle in the air. “Then we get a warrant for your arrest and you’ll get to try out my set of charm bracelets.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to come along quietly and answer some questions?” Michael asked.
“Carol, I want you to call Jonathan and have him bring our family attorney down to the—”
“Station Five, on Hill Street,” Michael said, producing
a card. He handed it to Carol, then turned back to Trenton. “After you, Doc.”
Trenton scowled, walking past Michael. Richard followed him down the hallway.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Michael said to Carol. He started to leave.
“You’re making a big mistake, Detective,” Carol said. “Dr. Hallowed is one of the greatest men I’ve ever known.”
“Yeah, I noticed that, when we came in.”
“You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t have your badge for these outrageous accusations,” Carol threatened.
Michael walked out through the door. “We’ll see.”
•••
Trenton waited in a police precinct interrogation room. He’d lost track of how long he had been there, but he knew they were watching him through the mirrored pane to his right. How stupid do they think I am?
He thought about standing up, marching over to the glass, pressing his nose against it, and making faces. But this wasn’t the time to push. The room smelled like sweat, causing Trenton to wonder what low-life piece of trash had been sitting in this chair before him. He sighed. Where is Jonathan?
Trenton turned to the glass and said, “Can we get on with this? I’m sure it’s very amusing for you to stand around behind two-way glass, hoping to psych me into some lame-brained confession, but you’re only wasting your time, and mine. And mine is worth three hundred dollars an hour.”
Trenton heard a door open and shut, outside. A moment later, Detective Link came into the room, carrying a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. He set one of them on the plain metal table, in front of Trenton. “I hope you like it black.”
“I don’t drink coffee, Detective,” Trenton said. His disdain was clearly written all over his face. “Can we get on with these questions you want to ask me?”
“Yeah, sure, Doc,” Richard said. “My partner is still pulling up some video from the platform cameras at the Proward Street Station. I think the pictures we’ve got there should help us wrap all of this up.”
“I wasn’t at the Proward Street Station, Detective. I believe I’ve already made that clear.”
“Oh, I know you have, but pictures don’t lie, do they, Doc?” Richard said.
Trenton smiled coolly. “They certainly don’t, Detective. As a matter of fact, I hope your partner is making a copy of the video, in question, for my lawyer, Harold Jameson.” Trenton paused for effect. “You two won’t be the first police officers Jameson has managed to remove from duty.”
Richard sat down in front of Trenton, in the only other chair in the room. “Now look, Doc, we’ve got video of your Lexus parked outside the station and you getting out of it, around 10:30 p.m., on the night in question. You went into the Vineyard Street Station and the turnstile computer tagged your Ident Ring.” He smiled. “And you do where a size eleven shoe, right?”
Trenton leaned forward, placing his forearms on the tabletop. “Mr. Link, if you were any sort of detective, you would know I reported my car stolen, three days ago. I keep some of my clothing in my trunk, in case I need to change at the lab. As for my ring, I don’t use public transportation, or any other public services, so I never wear it. It’s been sitting in my glove box, since the day I registered with my borough database.” He held up both hands, wiggling his fingers for emphasis—the ring was missing.
Richard leaned back in his chair, studying Trenton.
The door opened and a short, balding man entered the room, with Detective Stamos and two other men in tow. “What’s up, Captain?” Richard asked.
“My lawyer is here, Detective. That’s what’s up,” Trenton said, standing.
A burly man, with graying hair and a mustache, crossed before the police captain, walking toward Trenton. “I’m sorry it took so long, Trenton. This is a travesty!”
“Are you all right, Trent?” Jonathan asked from the hallway behind Detective Stamos.
“Harold, these fools don’t even know what their own police records say about my stolen car report,” Trenton argued.
“Captain, is my client under arrest?” Harold asked.
Stamos and Link looked at their captain. “No, he’s free to go,” the captain said.
Harold ushered Trenton toward the door. “Let’s get you out of here. You can be assured, sirs, that this disgraceful conduct will not go unanswered.”
The captain glared at Richard and Michael. Trenton smiled at both Detectives and gave them a short wave of his fingers, punctuating his victory, before exiting the interrogation room. “Goodbye, Detectives.”
6 NO WITNESSES
Captain Monahan walked into his office, breathing heavily through flared nostrils. Richard and Michael followed. “Close it behind you, Stamos,” Captain Monahan said. He slapped a case file on his desk. “Stolen three days ago? Why didn’t you know that, before you dragged him in here?”
Michael closed the door and sat down in one of the two chairs sitting in front of Captain Monahan’s desk. He had not seen the captain this angry as often as Richard probably had, but he knew enough to keep quiet.
“Captain, I still think he’s our guy,” Richard said. “I feel it in my gut.”
“Your gut can’t win a trial, Link. Neither can purely circumstantial evidence. You bluffed him on the video at Proward, which we don’t even have, and now his blowhard lawyer will make us look like idiots, when we can’t produce it. Not to mention the fact, Hallowed clearly doesn’t have the build for committing this crime.”
“The CSI told us the killer is average size,” Michael said.
“The District Attorney will still laugh. How do you get a jury to believe a bookworm, like Hallowed, could do what this killer did to those punks?”
The detectives looked at each other, unable to provide an answer.
“Exactly.”
Michael snapped his fingers. “Hey, maybe a tail on the good doctor would give us the car, or the clothing.”
“Forget it, Stamos,” Captain Monahan said. “I don’t want harassment added to this. Now get out of here and keep digging for something we can use.”
•••
Detective Clair Stapleton pretended to type at her keyboard. She kept an eye on the office of Captain Monahan, with her fellow detectives inside. The earpiece she wore picked up every word, supplied by the bug she’d placed in the office, over two years ago.
Clair removed a coded cell phone from her purse and typed in a text message, containing the name of Stamos and Link’s suspect and where to find him. Ming will pay well for this information, she thought. When she completed the text, Clair waited for their conversation to end. Link and Stamos opened the office door and walked out, passing her desk.
“Hey, Clair,” Michael said. They looked haggard.
She smiled and pressed the send button.
•••
Richard waved to his partner, over the top of his car, as Michael drove away. It was now 11:00 p.m. He was disgusted by the whole affair. Richard understood Captain Monahan’s point. You can’t win a trial without hard evidence and Trenton Hallowed had been careful, so far, not to give them any. If he was as calculated as he appeared, he would soon strike again. Richard put the keys into the ignition of his Nissan, starting the engine.
Traffic was light this time of night and Richard longed to taste his wife’s cooking. He turned off the radio, watching street signs pass. Normally, he unwound on the drive home, but not tonight. Richard passed Seventh and Oneida, beginning to chip away at the foam on his steering wheel. An old hole grew bigger.
As he approached Tenth and Oneida, Richard prepared to turn toward home. He moved into the turn lane, checked his mirrors, then swerved back into the straight lane. He banged the steering wheel. “You’re crazy,” he said to himself, but kept driving away from home—his gut leading the way.
•••
Fifteen minutes later, Richard drove into the parking lot of the Hayes Community High School. He turned off his headlights, parking a good distance from the football field. The field la
y shrouded in darkness, but not because it lacked lighting. Drug dealers frequented the football field at Hayes, conducting business after hours. That fact had been investigated in the papers, recently. If Hallowed is a vigilante, this would be a good place for him to find victims.
Richard walked out of the light cast by the school’s parking lot lamps, into the void hovering around the football field. As he drew closer, Richard noticed a parked car. He walked over to it. Lexus, just like the one on the video.
He heard a scream from the field’s direction. Three gunshots rang in staccato. Richard pulled his .357 Magnum from his shoulder holster. Another scream. It sounded like a man. Richard bolted toward the stadium gate, tripping over a parking curb. He gashed his knee and rolled across the gravel-strewn pavement, grimacing against the pain. I’m getting too old for this.
A woman screamed and was silenced. Richard fought against the pain, getting up again. He limped as fast as he could toward the gate, watching for parking stones by starlight. He reached the gate and paused. No screams. No voices at all.
Richard breathed deep and let half of it out. He rounded the gate and walked inside. He kept his Magnum in front of him with his right hand, using a Maglite with his left to illuminate his way. Richard walked toward the football field. Rows of bleachers loomed on either side. He scanned them with his light, walking through the middle, toward the field.
Richard reached the edge of the grass and stopped. His surroundings opened up, but the darkness hid all details from view. He pointed his weapon and light into the darkness. The flashlight beam was swallowed up in the expanse before him. He listened. Nothing.
