“I’ll have you to know, dearie, I am never idle. I am always looking for things, reading, studying, and finding my way through the vast networks out there in that www, if you please. But do, Mr. Washington, give me a thought or reasoning question.”
“Amazing! How does the program do that?”
“It’s not a program,” I said.
“Whattaya mean, ‘it’s not a program?’”
“Just that. It’s the computer. It’s her.”
“You suggesting artificial intelligence?” he said.
“There is nothing artificial about my intelligence,” Rogers said rather haughtily. It was one of her favorite lines when she could actually use it.
“I don’t believe this,” Rosey said.
“Ask.”
“Are men smarter than women?” he said.
“Oh, come on now. That’s not a thought question.”
“I think it’s a thought question,” Rosey said.
“It takes no thought whatsoever to answer that question. That is why it is not a thought question,” Rogers said.
“So what’s the answer?”
“No. Men are definitely not smarter than women.”
“That’s your opinion,” he said.
Then he looked at me and had this strange expression on his face.
“I’m arguing with a computer. This is absurd.”
He poured a cup of coffee and drank about half of it.
“You haven’t even gotten to the good part yet,” I said.
“The good part?”
“When she debates your strategy for solving a crime or solving a case or knowing what to do next in an investigation. That’s when the fun really gets going.”
“Am I still asleep? This is a dream, right?”
“You want some more coffee while you wake up and think of a hard question for her?”
He looked really bewildered now. He finished the cup of coffee in his hand, then poured another cup. He drank that one down, too.
“Don’t forget to add the cream and sugar,” Rogers said.
“I don’t use …” his voice trailed off.
Rosey passed by me as I was returning to the kitchen from the living room.
“I’m going to get a shower to clear my head. I am not thinking clearly at the present,” he said.
He turned and took the cup of coffee from my hand. He downed the entire cup of hot beverage, handed the empty cup back to me and turned to go shower.
“We’ll talk more in a few minutes,” he said. “I need to be sure that I’m awake.”
“No doubt,” I said.
Chapter 21
Rosey emerged from the bedroom freshly showered, shaved, and groomed. Ready for action. He smelled good, too.
“Is the computer still turned on?” he whispered across the room to me.
“I’m always on,” Rogers said.
“Does she hear everything?”
“Everything,” I said.
“How does she process so rapidly?”
“You won’t like my answer,” I said.
“Tell me anyway.”
“She won’t like my answer either.”
“Who cares what she likes?” Rosey said.
“Hey, watch your language, bud. Since you’re new to this, I will give you some slack. But don’t push your luck too far,” Rogers said.
“This is incredible,” Rosey said as he retrieved another cup of coffee and sat down on the sofa.
Sam was awake now and seemed to be enjoying our conversation. Perhaps he was enjoying the various tones or pitches by which each of us was engaged to what was happening as we spoke. I often wondered just how much he understood of what people said. No doubt he had a large vocabulary, but now and then I wondered how large it was.
“So, tell me how the computer reacts so quickly to questions. She seems to take no time at all to process.”
“Artificial intelligence.”
Rogers grunted and moaned. She disliked the word artificial.
“Okay, Rogers,” Rosey began, “let me see if I can get you to think. Is it wrong to kill someone?”
“Ah, finally. Well, Roosevelt Washington, you have asked a question related to a variety of aspects of life as we know it, one being morality. Is it moral to kill someone? Most cultures, as you know, have laws against outright killing of another human being. However, some cultures have laws that require the death of a person who is guilty of murder or some other heinous crime. A religious person might say that, yes, it is wrong to kill another person. But if I asked a soldier or a mercenary, their answer would be quite different. There is, in fact, no final answer to such a question as this. Every person has to decide on his own whether it is wrong to kill someone, or he simply lives by the dictates of his or her culture. To make matters more difficult, that same individual might answer differently depending upon a given circumstance, thus bringing to the conversation the notion of situation ethics.”
“Okay, okay. I get the point. You know stuff. You know lots of stuff and you can … well, sort of reason.”
“There is no ‘sort of’ to it, bub. I reason, I think, I compute, I am rational, I can plan, I can think, I can help you solve crimes and create scenarios of what is likely to happen if you do a thing. There is no ‘sort of’ to anything I do.”
“Then tell me what you honestly think about killing someone, not what you have read or learned or absorbed. Tell me what you think,” Rosey said to Rogers.
“I think it is wrong under most circumstances to take another life. It is possible that a situation could arise in which is absolutely essential to take another person’s life in order to protect yourself or someone you love.”
“I’m impressed. How long has she been able to perform this way?” Rosey said.
“Since birth.”
“But you have had this computer for several years now.”
“Your point?”
“Why haven’t you told me this before?”
“I knew that question was coming.”
“Been thinking of an answer for a while, have we?”
“Been thinking, but have no planned answer. Thought I would simply tell you the truth,” I said.
“What’s the truth?”
“You’ve only been back in my life for a couple of years now. I had to wait.”
“Wait. To see if you could trust me.”
“Something like that.”
“Now you trust me.”
“Trusted you for some time now. The issue of Rogers just resurfaced.”
“Glad to know that I can be trusted. How’d the issue resurface?”
“Specifically curious, aren’t we?”
“Keeps me alive most days.”
“It was Rogers’ idea.”
“The computer wanted to tell me the truth and you didn’t?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to tell you. I just hedged a bit.”
“Why?”
“Because no one knows. No one. You’re the first. If word got out about Rogers and her abilities … well, you can imagine what could happen. The best way to keep a secret is to keep a secret.”
“I’m honored that Rogers trusted me enough to share. And that you reluctantly agreed. It’s a sacred trust, you know.”
“Sacred trust?”
“Bringing an outsider into a family secret, sharing something vital to you. I am honored,” Rosey said.
“Hmmm,” I said slowly, “I thought you might be upset that I hadn’t told you when we first got back together.”
“You don’t know me yet. And is this what we are, back together again?”
“You know what I mean. I hadn’t seen you since high school graduation. That’s more than two decades. People change.”
“People don’t change where it counts. You trusted me during our school days and I trusted you. That’s basic. Formative.”
“I had to make sure,” I said.
“Have you?”
“Without a dou
bt.”
“Good. Now explain this computer to me.”
“Hey,” Rogers said. “Watch your language. I prefer to be called Rogers. The word computer makes me sound like a machine. I have feelings you know.”
“No, I didn’t know,” Rosey said. “Henceforth you shall be Rogers for me as well. But you can understand my curiosity.”
“I understand that you are a man and have great difficulty processing the evidence before you. And I rest my case.”
“You rest your case?” Rosey said.
“Precisely. That question you asked about who’s smarter. The answer appears to be self-evident.”
Chapter 22
Two weeks had passed since we had secured Mother Rachel with my Aunt May in the wilds of Pitt County, Virginia. We had heard nothing from Saunders. I had heard nothing from Diamond. The rain had finally stopped in Norfolk, but the wind coming in from the Atlantic was blowing hard and cold. The sun was doing its best to keep temperatures above freezing, but the wind was working against the sun. And winning. Those of us who call Norfolk home were caught in the middle of this fierce contest from Mother Nature, and we were the ones suffering from the wintry scuffle.
I was on the phone with T.J. Wineski, a captain in the Norfolk Police Department. He was asking for my help on a case. Rosey had returned to Sterling to get some paperwork in order and was scheduled to be back in Norfolk before Thanksgiving. We were planning a quick trip to Clancyville to dine sumptuously with May and Mother in honor of the season. I had a couple of days before those travel plans would occur.
“So you’re not busy at the moment,” Wineski said.
“Nothing’s happening,” I said. I had told him earlier about the Saunders’ ordeal and trauma. It was a waiting game. I knew that Saunders was still very much a threat.
“While she’s idle, you can help me,” Wineski said.
“I’m waiting for the next brick to fall.”
“Or some other metaphor,” he said.
“Where can I meet you?”
“I want you to look at the crime scene. Corner of East Main Street and Atlantic. You know the area?”
“I do.”
“Actually there are two crime scenes. I need you to look at both.”
“You shall have my undivided attention until this other thing resurfaces.”
“Fair enough. Oh, and bring the dog. There’s some sniffing to be done. He’s better at that than you.”
“I’ll tell him you said so.”
“I’m sure he’ll be pleased as punch.”
“Pleased, but maybe not quite that much.”
Sam and I met Wineski on the rooftop of the building on the corner of E. Main and Atlantic. The crime scene people were busy at work processing a corner of the roof that overlooked the E. Main and Atlantic intersection. There is a nice view of the Elizabeth River from that vantage.
Starnes Carver, head of the crime scene unit, met me as I arrived at the yellow tape. I once saw Starnes smile, but for the life of me I cannot remember the year it happened.
“The dog can’t cross this line,” she said.
“Wineski asked for the dog to sniff around the place.”
“Didn’t clear it with me.”
I looked around for Wineski, but couldn’t find him.
“You can enter, but put the booties on first,” Starnes said without feeling.
Starnes handed me the booties and I covered my shoes. I told Sam to stay put behind the tape. He sat down and waited for further instructions. He appeared unaffected with the demotion.
“Will he stay there?” Starnes asked.
“Till hell freezes over.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said.
The area taped off was large enough to put half of a football field inside it. I scanned the section quickly for a body or bodies in a prone position. There were none. A crowd of investigators were gathered close to the edge of the roof. I followed Starnes to that group. She looked back to see if Sam was still behind the tape. Unmoved and undaunted. He did look away when she looked at him. Attitude.
“He does mind well, I must say.”
“You must,” I said. “So, where’s the body?”
“No body, just blood. Lots of blood.”
I stopped at the edge of the blood line and took in the scene as far as I could. She was right, there was lots of blood. It appeared that whoever lost their blood here lost all of it here. Then again, I’m not the crime scene specialist. When it comes to blood amounts, I’m a layperson.
“You ever seen anything like this, Clancy?” she asked.
“Not often.”
“We’ll know more after the lab processes. I’ve already sent samples from several sections of the area.”
I saw Wineski approaching from the section of the roof where Sam had been sitting and waiting. T.J. Wineski was a middle-aged, overweight captain in the Norfolk department for more than twenty-five years. A first grade detective but a lousy dresser. He could solve crimes with the best of the force, but he couldn’t match colors if his life depended upon it. He owned the world’s largest collection of ugly ties. On this occasion he was wearing a blue suit with a brown tie that had yellow dots randomly placed. First class ugly. Suit and tie.
He also wore white socks with his unpolished dress shoes.
Sam was wearing four booties and walking with great authority alongside of the captain. The booties were striking against the all black exterior of the dog.
Starnes immediately voiced her displeasure at the approaching dog.
“What the hell do you think you are doing, Wineski?” she said.
“Studying the crime scene.”
“That dog is contaminating my scene.”
“Not any more than these humans are doing,” Wineski said. “He promises not to walk in or lick any of the blood.”
I smiled but Starnes offered no reaction. She was a hard case and everyone in the department knew it. The official and unofficial word was do not mess with her crime scenes. Wineski agitated her often with great relish.
“I’m holding you accountable,” Starnes said and walked away when one of her team members called her over to look at something.
“Now we’re both accountable,” I said to Wineski.
“As it should be. Have Sam do his thing,” he said.
“He’s doing it.”
Sam appeared to be doing nothing but watching the people move around and looking for anything that might help them get a handle on the crime. Of course, we were assuming that there had been a crime because of the blood on hand. Still, one has to assume occasionally until the evidence dictates something contrariwise.
Wineski and I watched him approach an edge of the blood and sniff. He walked along the blood lines carefully avoiding getting his feet in the thick, red stains. Some was dry, some was not. He sniffed as much of the blood as he could safely get to and then returned to me.
“What’d you find?” I asked him after he sat down in front of me.
He barked once and raised his right bootied-paw.
“What does that mean?” Wineski said.
“Means he found blood.”
“Wow. He’s a marvel. Can he do card tricks?”
“Hard to shuffle the deck. But he does other tricks.”
“Can’t wait,” Wineski said.
“Is it human?” I asked Sam.
He whined a bit.
“Translate for me,” Wineski said.
“It’s human.”
Sam barked once again.
“Oh, more than human.”
“What?” Wineski said.
“Sam believes that there is animal and human blood here.”
Starnes was back by now and standing next to Wineski.
“So your dog thinks that there is a mixture of human and animal blood here,” she said.
Sam barked once in her direction.
“That means yes,” I translat
ed.
“’Course it does,” she said incredulously.
“Oh, ye skeptics,” I said. “So much wisdom, and yet, so much doubt. Is it gopher blood, Sam?”
Sam looked at me with his best are-you-kidding-me expression and then barked twice.
“See, that means no.”
“Sure it does,” Starnes said. “I will let you know when the lab report comes back, Wineski. I trust science, not this dog and pony show.”
Starnes walked away without emotion.
“Hey, we don’t have a pony,” I said after her.
Wineski smiled. “Good stuff, Clancy. You and the dog have a good routine.”
Chapter 23
I was removing Sam’s booties next to the access door to the roof of the building on the corner of East Main Street and Atlantic Street. Wineski came over as we were about to leave. I figured he wanted to thank me again for the dog and pony show.
“Look at this,” he said. He handed me a plastic baggie with a sheet of notebook paper inside. It had been folded multiple times but was open inside the plastic. There was writing on it. It read, town point park.
“What’s this, my next assignment?” I said.
“No. We found it here, over there,” he pointed to a spot inside the tape but away from the blood.
“Related to the blood?” I said.
“I think so, but Starnes thinks not. She’ll process it anyway since it was in the area. I want you to go with me to Town Point Park.”
“I see no reason why not. It’s close. Let’s go. We can walk.”
Wineski moaned. He was probably fifty pounds overweight and never walked anywhere he couldn’t drive. Town Point Park was only a block down towards Waterside Drive and then a block over towards Martin’s Lane.
“Too much traffic on Waterside,” he said. “I’ll drive. Sam can ride in the back seat.”
We arrived at the park in short fashion.
“You got a leash?” he said.
“Got one, but don’t need it.”
“City ordinance,” he said.
“And you would enforce it.”
“Vigilant cop.”
I always carry Sam’s leash just in case we run into people who are fearful of four-legged critters like Sam, and who are also hyper-vigilant about reporting people like me who disdain leashes for dogs. I will admit that some dogs should be on a leash, but they are not in a league with Sam.
Revenge: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 4) Page 10
