“You mentioned the chomping sound and the roaring river,” I said.
“Oh my, yes. Indeed. I did tell you that.”
It crossed my mind that old age might be setting in on her and that her memory was being adversely affected. I waved at her and turned to walk through the gate.
“But that wasn’t all.”
I turned back intending to retrace my steps in an effort to move closer to her porch position. She had glided out to the picket fence gate before I could take one step. She was smiling, very pleasant-like.
How could she have moved so quickly from her front porch to that gate in a matter of seconds? This lady continued to mystify me.
“What else did you hear?” I said to her trying not allow her movements to distract me.
“Mamie heard the coyotes sing.”
27
“That’s the same thing that Ida said to us, right?” I said, interrupting Starnes’ interrogation.
We were sitting on the top step of Starnes’ front porch. No rain, just clouds and cold. Starnes had made some hot chocolate instead of coffee. We were both indulging ourselves. I was reestablishing my normal blood composition after having it cleansed by Aunt Jo’s tea concoction. My mind seemed to work better with some processed sugar back in the mix.
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I thought that this investigation was the subject.”
“One of many, apparently. It seems that you and I have an inexhaustible stream of conversations and subjects that are pertinent to our lives,” Starnes said.
Mild sarcasm from a type A personality. Mine was more creative, more direct, and more biting. Hers had the entire essence of truth. No fluff, just fact. Just my luck. I get to engage a sarcastic scientific mind armed with only my philosophical bent towards life.
“Shouldn’t we focus upon the mysterious deaths at hand?” I said.
“After you tell me more about the mysterious computer you call Rogers.”
“I’d rather explore the singing coyotes,” I said.
“How about tit for tat?” Starnes suggested.
“Explain.”
“Talk to me about Rogers, the super-computer and then we can discuss the singing coyotes and the rest of the mystery we’re up to our necks in,” Starnes explained.
I sighed. I really didn’t want to get into this with my friend, but since Josephine Starling had revealed to Starnes Carver my carefully guarded secret, I was in no position to barter. Her friendship was more important than my reticence to divulge such a guarded secret. Maybe my secret wasn’t so carefully guarded after all.
“My favorite uncle, Walters Clancy, is nothing short of a genius. He sent me the computer’s hardware and I put together. I have a little skill with computers. This happened while I was in college. Several years back.”
“What does the genius of your uncle have to do with the science fiction of Rogers?” Starnes said.
“My uncle is a multifaceted individual who has a green thumb when it comes to making money. Whatever he touches and nurtures, it blossoms. He sent me the computer parts to aid with my studies at Boston University. I put it together.”
“So he designed Rogers?”
“Yes and no. He wasn’t thinking about a computer with artificial intelligence, so to speak. He was thinking about a super-duper computer that could do the work faster than anything else on the market in those days. I used his basic design and schematic. I also tweaked it now and then, using some intuitive skills as well as stuff I had learned from him during my visits in high school.”
“But you then, what, enhanced it?” Starnes said.
“I wrote some special software programs and loaded them into her basic memory files. I didn’t make her faster than my uncle had designed. I simply made her more efficient. At least that was my thinking at the time. My intent.”
“So, you didn’t set out to do the artificial intelligence thingy,” she said.
“Not in so many words. I wanted her to be smart and to function at a higher level, but … well, I think together, Uncle Walters and I overachieved.”
“Do tell,” she said. That was my kind of sarcasm.
I sort of smiled at her.
“How does she actually think?” Starnes said. Ever the science geek.
“I don’t honestly know. My uncle and I have studied my software programs and we can’t answer that question. Maybe it’s a combination of his super-computer and my programs placed inside her memory. Who’s to say? Maybe nothing more than a happy accident.”
“So you don’t think you could duplicate her?”
“Probably not, but we could go back and do exactly what we did to her. I don’t know. I have never considered doing such a thing. So, I doubt it. We could do exactly what we did the first time around, at least I think we could do that. Who knows? Never tried. But I have doubts about duplication.”
“Then where’s the threat if you told the world?”
“Well, if I could not or decided not to duplicate the computer, then the value of Rogers would be something shy of a gazillion dollars and I would have to build a fort around her with guards 24/7. No thank you. I don’t care to have the publicity nor the headaches that would accompany such fame.”
“Why the name Rogers, and why is Rogers a female?” Starnes asked.
“Well, the female issue was Uncle Walters’ idea. He told me at the time that females would one day rule the world and he imagined that Rogers would be right with the best of them leading the way.”
“And the name?”
“Ah, that would be my secret.”
“Another secret?”
“For the time being.”
“So you and your uncle are complicit in the building of this machine that you say actually thinks?” Starnes said.
“Skeptical mind that you are, I will allow you to listen in on my conversation with her. I have failed to call her for several weeks. I can already tell you that she is miffed at me. Miffed is mild for what she is feeling at present. So, you listen to this conversation and you decide for yourself if I have overstated what she is capable of doing.”
I hit the number one on my speed dial and then put my mobile unit on speaker. We listened to it ring together. Several rings ensued. More than the usual number. Yep, Rogers was definitely irked at me.
“Well, well. I thought you were dead. You forget about me?” Rogers said through the speaker on my flip phone.
“I am truly sorry and rather embarrassed. I will confess to you that I did forget to call in.”
“Right. Where have you been? Someone holding you prisoner for the last few weeks?” Rogers said.
“It hasn’t been that long…has it?” my voice was weak.
“We can go over the calendar together if you prefer.”
“No, no. That’s not necessary. You’re probably correct.”
“Probably?” her voice had what one might deem an irritating tone. I looked at Starnes, raised my eyebrows, and held up my phone as if to suggest that.
“This case Starnes and I are involved with is out there in the twilight zone somewhere. It has absorbed all of our time.”
“You owe me for the worry I have gone through.”
“You could’ve called me, you know,” I said, trying my best to defend myself from my serious faux pas.
“I didn’t want to meddle into your investigation. I thought maybe you had decided to let me sit this one out.”
If I didn’t know better, her voice almost had the sound of someone feeling sorry for themselves. This was way beyond anything Uncle Walters and I had conceived in our little creative project. Besides that, I knew Rogers’ personality better than to suspect she felt sorry for herself. That notion was not even on anyone’s radar. I decided to move in another direction.
“So if you were so worried about me, why didn’t you contact Rosey and have him come rescue me?”
There was a long silence.
“Rogers? Tell me that you didn’t call
him and sound the alarm?”
“Not much of an alarm. I simply told him that you were off the grid, had been off for several weeks, and that I was worried. You had not checked in, so I did what I felt I had to do.”
“He on his way?” I said.
“As we speak. He left this morning. Should be there by supper time.”
“Well, I do thank you for your concern. And, it is my fault that you had to do that. Truth is Starnes and I could use another pair of eyes and another brain on this one.”
“And you were too busy to consider my brain. So, bring me up to speed.”
“It’s a hard case and only a smattering of obscure clues.”
“You’re not telling me the whole story. What’s wrong? I can hear it in your voice.”
“I’m the problem,” Starnes interjected. “I was told by someone that Clancy had a computer with artificial intelligence. Skeptic that I am, I needed to have some proof. I’m listening in on your conversation.”
“What … is … artificial … intelligence?” Rogers said in a mock, monotone voice as if she were the voice of some 1950’s sci-fi movie.
“Very funny,” I said. “I told her all about building you with Uncle Walters, and some of your skills.”
“Yeah, I bet. You likely played down anything that I can do. So, you decided to tell the whole world that I exist?”
“No. It sort of came out in a conversation.”
“Sort of came out in a conversation? What on earth does that mean?”
I explained a little of Josephine Starling to her. I could tell that she was collecting the data all the while she was researching Aunt Jo’s unusual insights.
“I have collected some information on people with her skill. They are rare. Mountain folk call it the sight. Some say it is clairvoyance. So, she really told Starnes about me?”
“She did indeed, much to my surprise and dismay.”
“Starnes,” Rogers said, “I can only imagine that with your scientific makeup, you remain a skeptic at the moment.”
Starnes cut her eyes at me and shook her head.
“Right on, computer. I am a non-believer. I want to sit down and talk with you, monitor to face.”
“Perhaps we shall have the opportunity to do that one day. At the moment, you will have to rely upon the cell phone. Or simply think that Clancy is really over-the-top and headed for the loony bin.”
“I don’t know quite yet how you are able to carry on these conversations with us, but I am sure there is an answer, a reasonable answer out there besides your so-called intelligence. You are a machine, after all,” Starnes said and left me sitting on the front porch with Sam and Dog and my nearly empty cup of hot chocolate.
I had more explaining to do with Rogers as well.
28
I did my best to patch things up with Rogers, but she wasn’t about to let me off the hook easily. I would be paying for my oversight for the foreseeable future. I should have reported in at least two weeks back. The one good thing that was part of this was that Rosey was on his way to help us. Roosevelt Washington was my childhood friend from Clancyville by way of North Carolina originally. We had known each other since our days together in high school. He came to Clancyville to live with his uncle, Joe Jenkins, who was a friend of mine.
Starnes was still struggling with the notion of Rogers being anything more than a finely tuned computer with some great software programs. I was willing to allow her to struggle with the idea as opposed to working hard to convince her that I had actually built something of a Jules Verne nature. Doubt can sometimes work in one’s favor.
The only good thing about Hack Ponder’s death was that Sheriff Murdock had sent the few remaining bone fragments to Mandy Schuler in the Asheville Lab by way of his deputy Walt Stanton. Saved us the time and trouble of delivering them ourselves. This time Starnes wouldn’t have to foot the bill.
“You’re sure?” Starnes was on the phone with Mandy.
“Yeah, yeah, I got that. You’ve compared all three samples?” Starnes said.
I was piecing together the conversation between the two. I figured that we were about to return to Hack Ponder’s store and search for a trail. Starnes closed her cell phone and walked to the front door. She was staring off in the distance. It was hard to know what she was looking at, if anything specific. Harder still was discerning what was on her mind.
“So Mandy verified the last set of bones?” I said.
“Yeah. Same kind of killer as the other two.”
“A large animal.”
“Yeah.”
“Anything noteworthy?” I said.
“Mandy told me that unless this animal was feeding a pack or was quite large, it was too much food for one animal to need even considering the time frame.”
“She think it was feeding a pack?”
“I told her no. No signs of that.”
“Is that it?” I said.
“Mandy said she could be wrong about the size of the animal,” Starnes said.
“She said it was large,” I reminded Starnes.
“I think she meant that it was larger than that.”
“As in enormous,” I said.
“Yeah, something like that.”
I watched a Jaguar drive up our graveled lane and park next to my Jeep. A tall, good looking African-American male got out and walked toward the front door to Starnes’ house. Starnes and I exited and met him on the front porch.
“Well,” he said without smiling, “at least you’re not lost in the mountains of western North Carolina. Rogers said that she was worried about you and that I should come forthwith.”
“Forthwith?” I said.
“It means fast,” he replied.
“I know what it means. Good to see you again. How’s D.C. and the bureaucrats?”
“Mean and deceitful as ever.”
“You glad to be away from there?” I said.
“Like Will Rogers once quipped – ‘The further I get away from the nation’s capital, the more hope I have for this country.’ I feel a little like that much of the time.”
“I bet you do.”
“Nice place you have here, Ms. Carver.”
“It’s a roof and a place to sleep. Nothing fancy. The couch pulls out into a double. You’re welcome to bed down there for the duration.”
“Thanks. Sounds like it’ll be enough for me.”
Rosey noticed Starnes’ arm and the stitches that Ida Carter had carefully woven into her skin. He took her arm in his large hands and held it close while he expected it.
“Beautiful job by somebody, but not regular,” he said.
“Whattaya mean ‘not regular’?” Starnes said.
“No doctor I’m familiar with did that.”
“Local person,” she said.
“Good job, better than some doctors. Stitches can come out,” he said.
“Haven’t had time to go back to the … person who put them there,” Starnes said.
“I can take them out,” he said.
“You’ve done that before?” she said.
“More times than I care to recall,” he said and took a small knife from his pocket. I watched him carefully cut two stitches, one from each end of the wound. He was careful not to allow his sharp knife blade to touch her skin. He then gently pulled the stitching and it came out without much effort at all.
“That looked easy,” I said.
“Practice, my love, practice,” Rosey said and smiled.
Starnes rubbed her now-healed wound and smiled at Rosey. “Thanks,” she said.
“Glad to help.”
“We were about to drive across the county to have a look-see near the Ivy River. You wanna travel with us?” Starnes said to Rosey.
“Be a pleasure. I’ll drive if you ladies will permit,” he said.
“Not in that you won’t,” Starnes said pointing to his Jaguar. “You’ll scare too many people. We’ll cram our bodies into my old truck and take our chances.”
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“More room in my Jeep,” I offered.
“I like to drive,” she said.
I threw her the keys as a way of dissuading her from the truck idea. Rosey was too big for the cab of her old truck even without the likes of my tall frame sitting next to him. Starnes drove and I rode shotgun. Rosey sat in the back seat with room to spare. The dogs stayed at Starnes’ place. They were still resting comfortably by the heater in the living room.
En route to Ponder’s place we filled him in on as many of the details of our case as we could. By the time we arrived, I think we had him enthralled in our bonafide mystery. Perhaps I have overstated his interest. At the very least, his curiosity was peaked.
“You’re both crazy,” Rosey said as Starnes pulled up in front of Ponder’s old store by the river. It was close to five o’clock.
“You can’t doubt the hard evidence,” Starnes said mildly disgruntled with Rosey’s skepticism.
“Just your interpretation.”
“Give us some alternatives,” she shot back.
“For one thing, you are assuming that the killer is eating the entire carcass,” he said.
“Only a few bones have been left at each of the places where the attacks have occurred. There is little trace of blood to be found. It seems reasonable that each carcass has been almost entirely consumed,” Starnes said.
“What if the killer is eating some, leaving a few bones, but carting off the larger portion to some unknown destination?” Rosey said.
“I would think there would be more trace evidence to allow such a conclusion,” Starnes said. “The evidence indicates that the carcass is almost entirely consumed at the scene of the killing with only a few bones left behind.”
“What if the animal that is killing is not alone?” Rosey surmised.
“You’re back to the pack notion?” I said.
“Not necessarily. What if this killing animal is controlled by, say, a human?” Rosey said.
“Controlled by a human?” Starnes said.
“The human, the master, is directing the animal to kill. But when the animal has had its fill of the carcass, the human then cleans up and carries off the remaining pieces.”
“Then why leave some few bones behind? Why not clean up the entire scene?” Starnes said.
Outcast In Gray: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 7) Page 14
