by Gavin Reese
“Are you sure, because I hoped they might be able to get him in three or four days per week, that was our agreement.”
“I’m sorry, dear, but I don’t know what else to tell you. You’ll have to wait for Jonathan to get back, all this has been so upsetting to see you two go through this! I think it may be best for you two to figure this all out under the same roof.”
“Mom, I’m sorry you’re upset, this has been upsetting for all of us! But you and I have already spoken about what Jonathan needs to work on right now to make sure he doesn’t get in trouble with the cops, and what he needs to do to get me and Michael back home with him. C-P-S isn’t just going to lift this court order out of the goodness of their hearts, he has to prove to them he’s not a danger to Michael. You know I’m afraid, so scared, Mom, every day, that I’m going to get a call that Jonathan hurt himself, and…” Colleen silently wiped tears from her eyes as she listened to her mother-in-law’s continued pleas.
“I just don’t understand all this, Colleen, I really don’t. In my day, the state never took kids away, and now they’ll take ‘em into foster care if the parents look at ‘em wrong. I just think there’s no way to fix all this stuff between you and Jonathan when you’re forced to be apart all the time.”
“Mom, listen, Jonathan coming home to live with me and Michael is not the solution to Jonathan’s problems, Jonathan fixing his problems is a condition to him being able to come home. I’d never say this to C-P-S or those detectives, but Michael is not safe living with Jonathan right now. Saying he loves Michael and showing his love by fixing his problems so he can take care of Michael are two different things. I do still love him, and I’m still in love with him, but Jonathan’s forcing me to choose between him and Michael, you can understand that, right?” Colleen again sat, tired of rehashing this same conversation every time she had to call the house to find Jonathan.
“I suppose I do understand it, but I certainly don’t have to like it, or even agree with it. People didn’t just get separated and divorced in my day like they do now. I don’t think most folks even know what marriage is supposed to be about anymore. It’s sickening, really.”
“Do you know how long he’s been gone or when he’ll be back?” Now just pissed off, she wondered about the point of Jonathan staying there if no one supported or helped him? He seemed a lost man who needed guidance, direction, tough love, and mothering right now, not bullshit shenanigans. Who was running things over there?!
“No, I really don’t know, dear, but I’ll make him call as soon as he gets in.”
“Okay, mom, I understand. I need you to tell Jonathan to call me as soon as you see him. You’re going to get a call--” A soft “call-waiting” beep interrupted Colleen’s statement. “Wait, Barbara, please don’t click over. It’s probably the man I’m trying to tell you about. Jonathan is going to get a call from a Detective Landon about the child abuse case. Please, please, tell Jonathan to call me before he speaks with the detective, okay?”
“Okay, I will do that dear. That detective can leave a message. No one here wants to talk to him anyway. I love you, Colleen, and I love Michael, both of you very much.”
Colleen again wiped swelling tears from her eyes. “Okay, mom, I love you too, I’ll tell Michael, too. Okay, thanks, bye-bye.” Colleen’s competing emotions overwhelmed her and she collapsed slowly, sobbing, into a seated heap at the kitchen table. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say, didn’t think she could stop Jonathan’s determined self-destruction. Colleen thought it might be easier and less painful if she could just stop loving him, but also knew that wasn’t possible. He was the romantic love of her life, and she desperately wanted to help him find his way back. Despite that hope, Colleen felt powerless to help Jonathan and solely responsible for Michael, which forced her to choose one over the other. Now more alone than at any time in her life, she realized she bore the responsibility of everything she and Michael required.
Colleen eventually dried her eyes, leaned back against the kitchen chair, and regained her composure. Her grab-bag of widely-diverse emotions steeled itself into a focused, defensive rage that reaffirmed her primary obligation to Michael’s care. If Jonathan wanted to die, that was his fault and his decision. She could reasonably do nothing to stop him.
If Jonathan wanted to leave her, leave Michael, and let them fend for themselves, that was also his fault and his decision. Colleen recognized she couldn’t stop that, either. In her mind, Jonathan had made it clear she and Michael were no longer his top priorities and she had to protect her son before anyone, including herself. Colleen wanted to vent her anger, but focusing so many of her emotions on Jonathan also unwillingly exhumed her of love, admiration, and softer emotions she associated with her husband. She had to do something more to try to help him, before she fell out of love with the man he’d been.
Thirty-One
Dry Creek Investigations Bureau. Dry Creek, Arizona
Detective Ron Berkshire sat alone in his office and checked his wristwatch for the time. 2156. Damn, he thought, I’ve gotta be the last one here tonight. He stretched his arms and upper back, but decided to finish his current task before getting out of the chair and stretching out his lower body a bit. I’ve been behind this computer for so long I lost track of time. His eyes ached from staring at the monitor, and his cheap office chair made his lower back and butt sore whenever he had to remain in place for this long. This damned chair is usually good motivation to get out of the office and go beat the bushes more regularly. He paused and reflected on what had recently kept him indoors so much. My fault for accepting this Social Media Investigator assignment. I should’ve expected a more serious time commitment, just based on social media’s modern pervasiveness.
Berkshire returned his focus to the computer monitor before him, and continued scrolling through the last of his targeted websites. He now wished he had come into the office early this morning, instead of waiting until late afternoon to start today’s SMI projects. I underestimated the time required for me to stroll through the social media underworld. It seems that expectations of anonymity breed confidence, arrogance, and hate like water spawns Gremlins. He’d spent the previous hours searching through the popular, household-name sites that everyone from ISIS to soccer moms used, although for very different purposes, and used each site’s internal search function to isolate keywords; he operated off two keyword lists, one that the local Joint Terrorism Task Force had provided to all the local police agencies, and a second that he and several other Dry Creek detectives had assembled.
Periodically, he found a posting he deemed suspicious and input the username and posting into a proprietary, geolocation-based JTTF program that recorded, catalogued, and analyzed each post made within a specified radius and compared them against other postings and usernames for potential commonality and poster origin. Because each site typically had unique username requirements, Berkshire knew that the same poster often used different user names on different sites. As such, he used the JTTF software to attempt to narrow the thousands of potentially threatening or suspicious posts to the few hundred individuals likely responsible for them.
ooooga
The automated sound notified Berkshire the software had, in fact, determined a group of recently uploaded postings were likely the product of a single writer. As he clicked on the notification box to bring up the detailed information, Berkshire began scrolling through the assembled data, which included both posts from the previous week and archived posts retained on the JTTF servers that other area users had uploaded over the past five years. He first looked at the most recent activity for some indication of the writer’s present intent and mindset:
Username: ArmyOfNone: “…somebody needs to step up, a true patriot willing to fight and schooled in asymmetrical warfare, and force the corrupt government to stop its endless abuse of power…”
Username: NoArmy: “…I can’t believe I gave up almost two decades of my life fo
r this corrupt, self-serving government…”
Username: NoSoyMarinero: “…it’s only a matter of time until someone THESE PEOPLE TRAINED has the courage to STEP UP and KICK THEIR TEETH IN!! I pray that day comes soon, I don’t know how long I can continue to live under the oppression of the federal gov!!!!”
Username: CptSandbox:“…they’re gonna have to learn the HARD WAY that the American PEOPLE won’t be kicked around any longer by CORRUPTION and OPPRESSION!”
“Hhmm,” Berkshire grunted as he saw the recent posts contained inflammatory and ominous, vaguely threatening language, but saw nothing in the recent rants that rose to criminal behavior. He moved back in the software-generated timeline to review several of the older postings that JTTF attributed to the same author:
Username: OpEF-IFVet17:“…it is likely only a matter of short time until the CORRUPT Washington establishment realize the righteous white Americans won’t lay down any longer, just to be kicked around any longer by their OPPRESSIVE RACE LAWS!”
Username: DisgUStedIFVet:“…My greatest hope is that one day, before the end of MY life, that my fellow white patriots will rise up against the EVIL, CORRUPT, and RACIALLY CONTAMINATED federal government. Separate but equal worked for our grandparents! I’ve never been happy seeing niggers walk down my street, and I’m tired of being OPPRESSED and forced into tolerating it! Based on their own statements, their music, their disdain and hatred of The White MAn, I have to believe THEY HATE US as much as WE HATE THEM!”
Berkshire returned to the more recent posts and selected the geolocation information. Transcribing that GPS coordinate into Google Maps, he confirmed the potential threat was, in fact, local. Very local. Buckeye Public Library at Dean and Yuma Roads. I’ll have to call over there and see if they have interior surveillance of this clown.
Thirty-Two
Dry Creek Investigations Bureau. Dry Creek, Arizona
“Alexis, you know why divorce is so expensive?” Alex hadn’t even completely crossed the threshold into the Criminal Investigations Division office before Wall verbally assaulted him.
“No, Wise Old Sage, enlighten me, why is divorce so expensive?”
“You know, it ruins the fucking joke when you patronize me by repeating it back to me in that fucking condescending tone.” Wall’s annoyance quickly passed now that he could get to the punchline. He smiled, paused, and looked around the small office to ensure that he, as the self-appointed ring master, had everyone’s undivided attention. Seeing that everyone either talked on their desk phones or ignored him, he only spoke louder. “Divorce is so expensive… because… it’s…worth it!”
“Your old lady finally wise up and decide not to live the rest of her years in abject misery, Wall?” A chime from the back of the peanut gallery.
“Fuck you, Hanson, your wife has been promising to divorce you for years, but now I’m starting to think she doesn’t really love me like she says.”
Another day bathed in gallows humor, crass juvenile one-liners, and locker-room jokes; few things remained sacred and almost nothing taboo. Thin skin, once detected, became mercilessly assaulted until someone bled, one way or another. And I get paid to be here, Alex thought, I’d probably do it for free.
Alex strode to his cubicle and let the computer boot up while he made coffee. Although not the only coffee drinker, his present title of “junior detective” ensured he alone bore the responsibility of keeping the cop juice hot and ready. Returning to his desk, Alex logged into the network while the strong black gold cascaded into its lightly stained glass pot.
Detective Mike Hanson, presently assigned to Property & Persons Crimes as the most junior detective despite having almost as much time on the job as Wall, had spent almost two decades in a patrol car. He strolled by Alex’s cube en route to the office kitchen; Thin Blue Line mug in hand, he leaned into the cubicle and quietly addressed Alex.
“Hey. Power rings in the kitchen cupboard.”
“Dunkin’ or Einstein’s?”
“Dunkin’.”
“Wall find ‘em yet?”
“Nope, that’s why there’s still some to be had.”
“Where’d they come from?”
“I bought ‘em this morning on the way in. They’re safe. I picked ‘em out and I kept my creds hidden.”
“Thanks, man, I’ll bring something in tomorrow, then.” Alex knew from experience that doughnuts had to be hidden until the rest of the staff and Sergeant showed up, or Wall would discreetly eat about half the box by himself.
“That Wall guy’s always amazed me,” Hanson spoke just loudly enough now to be heard across the room, “he’s got a beautiful wife, kids seem great, but he’s always the first one there and the last one gone. That doesn’t make sense to me.”
“That’s cause you don’t have to live with those assholes,” Wall shouted back from his small office.
“What concerns me,” Sergeant Rudiger interjected as he walked from the kitchen with a chocolate doughnut in hand, “is that he manages to put in all those hours without ever getting any worthwhile cases, or developing a reputation as a hard-charger.”
“Fuck all you sons-uh-bitches, I get mine--” Wall stopped midsentence as Rudiger passed by. “Who the fuck brought doughnuts and didn’t tell me?!” Mere seconds passed before Alex watched Wall scurry toward the kitchen. He and Hansen shared a smirk before Hansen left to return to his own small office.
By the time Alex’s email loaded and he returned to the kitchen, he found the coffee pot nearly empty. He poured the last half-cup for himself and he started a second pot. Oh well, small price to pay, Detective, he told himself, you could be driving to another Barking Dog call right now. Alex took one of Hanson’s doughnuts and, this time, waited in person for the coffee to finish. No sense missing out on the second pot, too, he thought as he filled his mouth with maple-frosted perfection.
Alex heard the backdoor open and soon saw Detective Berkshire pass by the kitchen door. He swallowed hard to speak before the senior investigator scurried off. “Ron, hey, you got a minute?”
“Yeah,” he said over his shoulder without breaking stride, “gimme a second to drop my stuff in my office and I’ll be back with you. You can bend my ear while the coffee brews, but no longer. Too much to do today.”
Berkshire returned quickly, much to Alex’s surprise. “What can I do ya for?”
He must be really busy today, Alex thought. “I heard you just got tapped for that new Social Media Investigator slot. What’s that about?”
“My volun-told appointment to it, or the job itself?”
“The job, I don’t care who got it, as long as it wasn’t me.”
“Well, I didn’t think there was gonna be much to it, and there’s not really, at least in terms of being relatively simple investigations, but I fear I grossly underestimated the time commitment to sift through all of the suspicious, threatening, and ominous postings folks near us make every day. In addition to the T-L-O assignment and my other tasks, I’m supposed to run daily checks on social media sites, searching for key words in posts to indicate homicidal intent, mass casualty threats, and suicidal ideation. Ya know, the little things the public expects us to prevent, rather than respond to after the fact. All while the posters can be completely anonymous by using end-to-end, fully encrypted sites that require propriety code to crack and court orders to force private companies to comply with our demands. All under immediate-need time constraints that don’t always give us the luxury of getting said court orders in time to identify potential targets and suspects. So, just the usual, modern day copwork, right?”
“Yeah, right, no stress in that. We’re almost guaranteed to fail most of the time, aren’t we?”
“Yes and no. It’s a new project here, but I expect it’ll be commonplace among larger police agencies in the near future. The problem now is that this will take a small, dedicated team of computer geeks with badges, so I’m hoping some initial success will allow us to b
udget for those future positions before failures drive public outcry for them.”
“Glad it’s you and not me, I feel like I’m already behind a desk more than I wanna be, and I don’t like that we’re becoming more and more responsible for intervening and predicting crime. It seems like our society is becoming increasingly dependent on government services to save the day, when they should first look to themselves and their families for aid and support.”
“So, you think we shouldn’t try to ferret this stuff out before someone gets hurt?” Berkshire leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, which Alex understood as a clear indication of disagreement. “You should probably know I advocated to establish this position.”
“That’s not it. I believe we should fully incorporate intelligence-led policing practices into our agency, and I think monitoring social media for threats is part of that. What concerns me is an increasing societal expectation that government, in its various forms, has all the answers. If we have the answers, then we also have the responsibility. If we have the responsibility, the individual is far less accountable for their actions, and far less expected to actively participate in problem solving. I fear we’ll end like a massive Great Britain, where the subjects are incapable of caring for themselves in a crisis.”
Berkshire seemed to take Alex’s point without slight, uncrossed his arms, and noticeably relaxed. “That’s the job, Detective, like it or not. My generation grew up in Scouts and fist fighting on the playground, so we didn’t call for help unless it was a true emergency. Kids today can’t even decide which cold medicine to take, so they call for an ambulance to dispense Tylenol. I don’t like the social trends, either, but that’s a tidal wave I will fail to alter. I’d rather get ahead of it and develop our best practices before some tragic event gives the politicians cause to ram bad process down our throats.”
“Maybe the kids’d be less suicidal if we stopped constantly asking them about their mental health and telling them they might be suicidal.”
