Dark InSpectre

07 May 2012

In Plain Sight, Episode 48: The Accused

Thurs., 9:00 am – New Arden Municipal Court Building

My lawyer and I occupied a small, well-appointed room on the third floor of the City Prosecutor’s offices. We sat on a soft leather couch, lounging against velvet pillows under the stern gaze of old guys depicted in oil paintings that hung on the walls. The place was law-office chic, but for all the fancy trimmings it might as well have been a Thought Police waiting room.

We’d been cooling our heels for about forty minutes, by which time it was obvious they were trying to make me sweat. I tried not to fidget in my dress greys while Ben sat there completely at ease. One thing I learned about my lawyer, nothing fazed him. A major partner with one of the big firms downtown, Ben had abruptly quit several years ago to take on only those cases he found interesting.

He was a bundle of energy, hardly ever slept, and if I looked closely I could still detect the food stains on his suit, though it was one of his nicer ones. He turned to me, amiable, no nerves. “Remember, the whole point of this is for you to say as little as possible. Concern yourself with only questions of fact. Anything else, I’ll handle.”

We’d drilled for hours, which mainly consisted of me spilling everything I knew about Jimmy and Gina, how they controlled the Quads, how Terry got whacked and everybody ended up dead. Except I didn’t tell him about my spirit-guide, Dee; I never told anyone about that.

Ben didn’t even blink, he just took it all in, I could sense the gears turning in his mind as he put it all together. He wasn’t a tel—tels weren’t allowed to practice law, too much of a built in advantage—but his questions were laser-sharp, and they all centered around whether any part of my story could be corroborated by anyone.

Well, Laszlo, but he wasn’t exactly talking.

There were some voices in the adjoining room behind the doors, escalating into what sounded like a heated exchange. I was about to extend my senses to find out what was going on, but Ben put a hand on my arm. “Here’s where it gets fun,” he murmured.

As if on cue, a door opened and a court officer stepped out, motioning us inside. We rose and crossed into an interview room, though a far nicer one than I was used to. Ben and I took the two upholstered chairs on one side of the lightwood table in the center. One of the chairs across from us was already occupied by a slim, pretty brunette, one of McKenna’s assistants, a lawyer who was here to monitor the proceedings. She introduced herself, Jenni Lauer. She didn’t look too happy, and in another second, the source of her displeasure was apparent.

The one ace I had going for me was that Lance Hendricks would be handling my questioning, or so Franken has assured me. Hendricks was an honest guy who’d give me a fair shake. However, it was obvious there’d been a last minute switch, because to Jenni’s consternation, in walked none other than Frank Beale, special investigator for the City Prosecutor, and self-appointed pain in my ass.

I shot a quick glance at Ben, who looked like he’d expected this. I probably should have, too. Beale sat down, preening with a silver badge all shiny on the lapel of his dark suit. His face was calm, but his eyes gloated and his surface thoughts overflowed with malevolence. All aimed at me. He sat down and I didn’t miss the way Jenni edged her chair slightly away from him. Then Beale looked at me and gave me the barest hint of a smile, his brain broadcasting loud and clear: he was the one in control now.

I gave an inward sigh, resigned to the fact that this was not going to go well. I just needed to follow Ben’s advice and keep my mouth shut.

Beale faced me, wearing a thin, insufferable smile. “Well, Lieutenant, I trust you’ve been keeping yourself well.”

I shrugged. “Fine, thanks.”

Next to me, Ben yawned theatrically. “I think we can dispense with the pleasantries, Mr. Beale, shall we get started?”

Beale shot Ben a cold glance. “It’s Special Investigator Beale, and yes, we can start.”

He turned back to me, mouth twitching in barely concealed glee. “Lieutenant Jack Garrett, you have been called to testify regarding the circumstances surrounding the deaths of James Mallon, Gina Ramirez, and Terence Frank.”

I felt like asking, what about Laszlo? But that probably wouldn’t go over too well. Instead I just nodded.

Beale started asking background questions, about how Jimmy, Gina and I knew each other from way back in our Academy days. Jenni took notes while Ben sat patiently, a genial smile on his face. Then we got to more recent events, how I started visiting the Quads, following clues about Dee’s murder and putting together the whole nefarious plot whereby four murdering psychopaths were turned into police-sanctioned enforcers.

I laid it all out, every ugly detail, all the way through Jimmy shooting me up with a cotton candy derivative and beating the hell out of me. Jenni kept a straight face but I could sense her blanch inside at my description.

Beale paused in his questioning, raising an eyebrow. “How long did you know Mr. Mallon and Ms. Ramirez? Some twenty years?”

I nodded and Ben leaned forward, eyes narrowing. I wondered what he knew that I didn’t. “That’s right,” I answered.

Beale cocked his head to the side. “First, assuming this ‘supposed’ arrangement with the Quad Killers existed somewhere other than in your own imagination, you’re telling me that when your two best friends in the whole world started a secret operation within the police department, you knew absolutely nothing about it?”

I kept my face neutral, not liking where Beale was going. “That’s right.”

He nodded, acting like he was pondering that for a moment. “I see. Well, would it surprise you to know that you were the last person seen with all three subjects of this investigation before their deaths?”

I felt a light pressure on my wrist, stopping me from responding. Ben cleared his throat. “I’m sure you can understand how my client hasn’t the faintest idea when he was or wasn’t seen prior to the deaths of the subjects in question. How could he possibly know that?”

Beale gave another thin, patronizing smile. “Yes, quite, well I can assure you that police records indicate you were, indeed, the last person known to be with each individual before their deaths, Lieutenant. Would you like to see the files?”

He pushed several folders across the table toward me, but I ignored them. I was with each of them right around when they died. I never denied it.

“Is there a question, here,” Ben said in a bored voice, “Special Investigator?”

Beale ignored him, his eyes boring into mine, his thoughts slavering like a dog ready to pounce on a bone. “Yes, Lieutenant, instead of this…” he waved a hand vaguely in the air, “…grand conspiracy, isn’t the simplest explanation for the deaths of James Malon, Terence Frank, and Gina Ramirez that you killed them?”

Ben continued gripping my arm in an effort to keep me quiet, but the effort was wasted. My only response to Beale’s question, his whole aggravating presence, was stunned silence. I had no answer for that one.

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23 Apr 2012

In Plain Sight, Episode 47: Doctors and Lawyers

I sat at my desk, studying everything there was to know about Leonard Holloway in the public records, noting the advanced degrees in biochemistry and pharmacology that followed his MD from New Arden University School of Medicine. Guy was definitely into drugs, publishing a whole boatload of papers on new formulations and compounds. Small wonder he’d ended up in the pharmacy department at New Arden General. I looked farther back, noting his undergraduate degree from NAU after majoring in pre-med. No surprises there, exemplary grades, brilliant student.

Check clubs and associations. Whaddayaknow, Lenny belonged to a fraternity. He was a year older, but guess who his frat buddy was? Marcus Ames. My eyes narrowed. Ames and Holloway were chummy, I already knew that much. Did Walter know Holloway, too? What did it all add up to?

I got the chance to ask when Walter’s face appeared on my vid screen. He looked tired, but had his usual half amused expression. We talked more about Natalie Brown’s article and the leak, shifting the conversation to Harcher’s investigation. Bottom line, I needed to clear a big case, Heske or this Narco investigation. Everything else would go away.

Nice segue. “About the Heske case. I took a little trip over to New Arden General, saw a couple of docs, Fairchild and Holloway. You ever run into them?”

He smiled but there was a certain tightness in his face. “Ah, indeed. Leonard and I were in the same fraternity, though we didn’t exactly run in the same circles. As for Fairchild, we had a case in Vice not too long ago. Someone in his department was siphoning off money from the hospital’s general fund to cover his gambling debts. I had to interview Fairchild and several other hospital employees, and,” he shrugged. “You know how persuasive I can be.”

I supposed that made sense. We signed off and then I stopped twiddling my thumbs and had the sit down with Franken. His office was rustic, pictures of bears and hunting, with some ancient-looking football jerseys framed on the wall. The game was different nowadays, what with the laser-guided passing and the force-field blocking, but he looked like he could still pancake an opposing lineman.

I parked myself in front of his oak desk while he adjusted his glasses, waiting for me to start. I was prepared to speak freely, especially after the quick mental scan I performed upon walking in. I knew Franken’s office would be tight as a drum, but you could never be too careful. At any rate, the place was clean, no hint of any other consciousness listening in.

I gave him the rundown, spilling everything, the feeder, the psychic blobs at the crime scenes, the Narco investigation. I did not mention the Nameless. But bottom line, I trusted him, and if felt good laying it all out.

He sat there the whole time, the furrow in his forehead getting so deep you could lose a small child in there. Finally I ended and he remained quiet for a long moment. “Jack, I’ve never heard of anything like your tel suspect. A feeder? He sounds worse than the Quads.”

I shrugged. “Could be. But I’ll get him, count on it.”

He leaned back, folding his arms across his bear chest. “It would make a lot of things go away if you did.”

I snorted, gave a half-hearted laugh. “Tell me about it.” Then a stray thought prodded me in the grey matter. “You know when Haggerty’s retirement is?”

Franken raised an eyebrow; he touched a button, triggering lines of light that crisscrossed the surface of his wooden desk to form a calendar. One of the squares lit up. “The ceremony is in about two weeks. It’ll be in the afternoon, the usual fanfare.”

I mulled that over. “Is he having any kind of private thing, later maybe?”

His turn to shrug. “I don’t know. Could be. If there is, I haven’t been invited. Why?”

I frowned, grunting. “Not sure, just a hunch.”

He tapped his desk, causing the calendar to disappear. “Would you like me to ask him at our next meeting?”

“Absolutely not, Sir.” Then I smiled. “Too bad you’re not a tel, you could just scan him.”

We both knew that would be impossible, and it elicited a chuckle from Franken, but also something else. A strange flash of anxiety I didn’t know what to make of.

Then he was all business again. “Listen, Jack, you’re out on a limb. Harcher is gunning for you and so is somebody in the Department. I don’t know how they’re messing with the crime scenes, but it’s got to be tel-related somehow. Do you trust Walter?”

There it was, the big question. I had my doubts about him, for sure. He was connected to Ames, to Holloway, and the way he could alter someone’s mind was flat out creepy. But he also fought to put me on the Heske case and was backing me to the hilt, even as far as suppressing evidence. “He’s gone out on a limb for me, Sir.”

Franken tilted his head, nodding slowly. “Understood. Outside of your unit, can anyone else see these ‘blobs’?”

My mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “I wish. No, only us spooks.”

Franken’s jaw clenched. “Damn, then you can’t really prove there’s been tampering if nobody else can even see the things.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’ve kept it under wraps.”

More brow furrowing. “Okay, continue your investigations, report to me if anything else comes up. I’ll try and use some of my own resources, too.” He paused, his tone even more grave. “It seems like you’re the lightning rod on this one, Jack.”

I got up, pausing before I left. “Yeah, let’s hope I don’t get zapped.”

##

I was not in the best of moods when I got back to my office, only to find a man in a poorly tailored suit with a half eaten sandwich in his hand sitting on the edge of my desk. He stood up, his eyes bright and eager.

He extended a non-sandwich-covered hand. “Hey there, I’m Ben Leffler, ready to get to work?”

I stood there, at a total loss. “Who are you?”

He gave a weird grin. “Mary told me to stop by. It’s about your hearing coming up?”

It hit me. The investigation into Gina and Jimmy’s deaths, my subpoena, the hearing in two days. This was Mary’s pal from law school. This rumpled, food-covered guy with stained lapels was my lawyer. Swell.

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09 Apr 2012

In Plain Sight, Episode 46: Deep 6

Fairchild smiled at me while I tried to decipher the faint fog that clung to his brain.

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

I sat back in the wood and leather chair in Fairchild’s office. The room was all light colors with abstract art on the walls, except the wall behind him—diplomas and awards covered it floor to ceiling. “Please, call me Jack. I need a little expert advice, Dr. Fairchild. It concerns the drug depresel-6.”

Fairchild raised a white wispy eyebrow. His wrist twitched, like an unconscious gesture. Maybe a tremor? The guy was old. “Please, call me Reggie.” He took a breath and started speaking in an even, genial tone that I supposed was his lecture mode. “Depresel-6 is a synthetic compound that combines opiate derivatives with a powerful anti-psychotic. Its most common use is as a sedative for individuals with violent tendencies and serious psychiatric disorders. However, it was discovered to have unique effects on telepaths, suppressing certain neurotransmitters thought to foster aspects of telepathic ability. Obviously you’re aware of its use in putting dangerous telepaths in stasis.”

He ceased talking, and his wrist stopped twitching. “Doc.” I just couldn’t call him Reggie. “Does it have any other uses?”

He tilted his head and shrugged. “We’re always conducting studies. There’s one looking at depresel-6 as a potential treatment for erectile dysfunction.” I snorted. Figured.

Fairchild crinkled his brows and gave me a quizzical look. “Was there something specific you were wondering, Jack?”

I chose my words carefully. “Would it be effective in suppressing tel activity related to contacting the psychic imprints of deceased individuals?”

His wrist twitched. Fairchild looked at me with a penetrating stare and I suddenly felt like one of his study subjects. “Do you mean like what you do?”

I tried not to squirm in my seat. “Partially. This would involve more… direct contact than I’m capable of. Even to the point of absorbing the psychic imprint, and then storing it or expressing certain attributes of the DV. It might even be an addictive behavior.”

He stared at me, completely motionless, his eyes alight with scientific interest. The wrist still twitched.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of such a case.”

I kept my face expressionless. “It’s pretty rare.”

His eyes didn’t leave mine. “And of course if this had anything to do with an ongoing investigation, you wouldn’t be at liberty to say.” I didn’t move or respond, letting him come to his own conclusion. He nodded slowly, his eyes going unfocused. “This is highly theoretical, but I suppose certain areas of the brain that would be involved in such activity could be suppressed by depresel-6.” I got a lot of scientific intrigue from his surface thoughts, then he looked back at me. “But this is all conjecture. Any such individual would surely be institutionalized under the care of medical professionals.”

Yeah, about that… “What if they weren’t?”

Fairchild got real serious. “For such a person to be at large would be extremely dangerous, which I’m sure you know.”

I leaned forward. “Right, what I’m asking is if such a person were self-medicating, where would they get the stuff, doc?”

He leaned back, his wizened face splitting in an understanding smile. “Ah, of course. This department is the only large-scale source of depresel-6 in the city, so therefore if such a person were using the drug, it must be coming from here.” His hand twitched again and the fog covering his thoughts got real thick. “Let me assure you that is quite impossible, Jack. The protocols we employ for using depresel-6 are highly restrictive and specific. It’s kept under our highest level of security. Only I and one other individual in the department even has access.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Who would that be?”

As I said it I felt a presence outside the door behind me, followed by a knock. A head poked inside, saw me and looked apologetically at Dr. Fairchild. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Reggie. I didn’t realize you were with someone.”

Fairchild motioned the head to come inside. “That’s quite alright, we were just talking about you.”

Enter a bespectacled, heavy-set man in a lab coat, his wide cherubic face topped by curly brown hair. I stood as Dr. Fairchild introduced us.

“Lieutenant Jack Garrett, this is Leonard Holloway, a brilliant pharmacologist and my deputy chief.”

He gave me an easy smile as we shook hands. “Hello, Lieutenant, pleasure to meet you.” He seemed genial, even likeable on the outside, but inside this guy was major agitated, and I seemed to be the cause.

Fairchild stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. “The Lieutenant is here to see how safe we keep the depresel-6.”

Holloway looked surprised. “That stuff is locked up tighter than the vault at New Arden First National.”

At the sound of his voice and seeing his body language, a soft click went off in my head. I knew this guy from somewhere, but I couldn’t place him. I smiled. “I’m sure it is, gentlemen.” I turned back to Dr. Fairchild. “Would you please make me a copy of your safety protocols, and a list of everybody who might have access to the stuff? All the way down to the janitorial staff?”

He started rummaging around in his desk, said he had the protocol in a binder. I could tell he was humoring me. While he looked, I made small talk with Holloway, trying to figure out where I remembered him from. I asked him if we’d ever met.

He gave me a cool look. “I don’t think so, Lieutenant.”

Hmmm, his agitation wasn’t from a general dislike of tels, it was me. Well, add another one to the fan club.

Dr. Fairchild had stopped shuffling papers. He held out a notebook and a piece of paper with some writing on it. “Here’s the protocol and a few names. I’ve also thrown in some literature on side effects of depresel-6, some common, some more rare.”

I thanked both of them and drove back to headquarters. Fairchild had been tampered with, and it felt like Walter. Could he have questioned the doc at some time? I wondered how to approach my boss about that. It wasn’t until I fought through the growing crowd of sign-waving hate mongers and sat down at my desk that it hit me. The scene replayed in my head: the fundraiser a year and a half ago, Marcus Ames and a drunk suit at the bar. But this time Drunk Guy had a name and a face—Leonard Holloway.

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26 Mar 2012

In Plain Sight, Episode 45: The Mob Gathers

Tuesday, 9:15 am—Special Investigations Unit

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, having spent the night on the couch in my office after opting for solace in a bottle. Fortunately, I always kept a spare set of clothes at work. Cuz let’s face it, this wasn’t the first time.

As a result, I looked fairly presentable when I got the vid call from Franken. If you didn’t count my pallid, unshaven face and the circles under my eyes.

Franken, meanwhile, looked dead sober. “Jack…” he began.

I cut him off. “Sir, I’ve already read it.”

It was the latest hack job from Natalie Brown in the New Arden Examiner. Just like Phil said, she’d written all about the crime scene over at the Lisbon. Phrases like latest failure, and troubling trend popped out. But there was a new twist to this one, and it came from an all too familiar source.

“Is it true?” I tried hard to keep my voice neutral, without success. “What the article says about Harcher?”

Franken sighed and looked extremely weary. “From what I’ve heard, Harcher is forming a subcommittee examining the effectiveness of your unit, with a goal of making a recommendation either for or against its continued operation.”

My mouth twisted with anger. “He’s trying to shut us down.”

Franken looked sympathetic. “Jack, there are forces both within and without the department that have just been waiting for a chance like this. And what with these recent…” he shrugged and shook his head.

I knew what he was thinking. Failures. How the info was getting leaked no longer mattered, the damage was done. An accompanying editorial in the paper showed decided undecidedness regarding my unit, saying our service was deeply appreciated but nobody could ride forever on past success, blah, blah, blah. Public opinion was turning. And Walter wasn’t helping fast enough. I could just see the mob gathering, torches lit, Harcher egging them on.

I noticed Franken looking at me, cleared my throat as I tried to rein in my hyper-paranoia. Which seemed completely warranted, by the way. I took a breath, deciding it was time to bring him in on this. “Sir, the crime scenes, they’ve been…altered.”

Franken’s thick eyebrows came together and he looked even more serious. “What does that mean?”

I paused. We were on a normal department vid channel, encrypted and firewalled from the outside. Except maybe for people like Phil or anyone who might have it in for me. It was a long list.

I chose my words carefully. “It’s a tel thing, Walter’s trying to help figure it out.”

He stared at me some more. “That’s very disturbing, Jack. Who could, or would, do something like that?”

I shook my head, blew out an exasperated breath. Somebody who ate psychic ghosts? I wasn’t about to say that over a vid channel. “We’re trying to determine that. The why should be pretty obvious.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes. Indeed. Maybe it’s best if we discuss this in person, Jack. This seems like something I should…”

The knock at my door caused me to turn my head. I could see Suzie through the glass before I turned back to Franken. “Let me get back to you on that, Sir. But I think that would be a good idea.” He nodded to me and the vid screen went dark.

Suzie came in and plopped down. We didn’t discuss the paper since she wanted to tell me about her trip to the Galleria and her hours spent with every junkie DV scumbag who ever shot up there. Apparently, few of them had anything worthwhile to say, though they all were extremely talkative. But finally she found a medical resident who’d taken too much of his own anesthesia. He gave her the name of a drug: depresel-6.

Thing is, I knew about depresel-6, aka deep 6. It was an extremely powerful drug mixed in the cocktail that was used to chemically wipe and preserve the minds of the most dangerous tels before they were put in stasis. Like the Quads.

I commended Suzie and ordered her to take the rest of the day off. She didn’t look too good, which was understandable after spending all night with the ghosts of tweakers past. She gave me a tired smile and left while I mulled. Deep 6 was a highly controlled substance, there was really only one place it was available. I decided I’d spent enough time in the office, maybe getting out and staying occupied would do me some good.

I rose and stretched, splashing some water on my face in the bathroom, threw some coffee down my throat until I felt a little more alive. A little. On the way out I gave my detectives one of my more conversational grunts.

Outside NAPD headquarters: check the people with picket signs. They were always protesting something, but these signs said ‘No More Spook Squad’ and ‘Let the Dead Rest.’ Great, the mob was forming. I walked past earnest people sweating in the morning heat, tried not to stop as somebody pointed at me, recognizing my dashing profile. An angry voice yelling, “We don’t need your kind!” I kept walking, definitely didn’t need a police brutality charge on top of everything else. Idiots. They didn’t even know they were being manipulated. The irony of that thought almost smacked me in the face.

I drove to the one place where deep 6 was kept under lock and key, New Arden General Hospital, my old stomping grounds. Maybe I should stop by and say hi to Nurse Phyllis? Maybe not.

I badged my way into the Pharmacy Department and in short order was sitting in the office of Dr. Reginald Fairchild, a wizened prune of a man with a kindly smile and sharp eyes. He was a normal, and as we chatted and made small talk, his surface thoughts gave off a filmy residue like something oily had rubbed up against his brain. I’d felt that before, when Walter uncoiled his psychic tendrils. The faint ick was unmistakable. At some point, Wonderful Walter had paid a house call on this nice old doctor, and performed an operation of his own.

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12 Mar 2012

In Plain Sight, Episode 44: Different Scene, Same Story

Liz Cleary, a detective from sex-crimes, met us at the front entrance of the Lisbon, a high-rise, upper income apartment complex in a wealthy area of Midtown New Arden. Late-forties, a streak of premature grey in her hair, she was dressed in a light jacket and slacks. Her hazel eyes mirrored the faint aura of deadness I got from her surface thoughts. This cop had been in sex-crimes for too long. She raised an eyebrow at seeing me, her bored façade cracking a fraction, surprised I was making a personal appearance.

Liz gave us the rundown as we took the elevator up to the 32nd floor. Vic’s name was Belinda James, an attorney at Stanton and Plink, one of the big law firms in town. Age 26, SWF, she’d been forced at knife-point into her apartment after arriving home late one night from work. The guy who raped and murdered her wore a mask the whole time so the tel from sex-crimes couldn’t get an ID when he’d read the scene.

Building staff had been read, co-workers, friends—nada. The case was stone cold, so it was our turn. We stopped at the apartment, pausing while Liz keyed in her code to turn off the yellow static field that filled the doorway, waiting for the hum and crackle as it blinked out. We entered a high-end pad, Jacuzzis in the bathrooms, 3D holographic vid screens in the living room and guest rooms. Darson and I went straight to the bedroom, surveying the sumptuous four-poster with satin sheets, the plush Asian-style rug on the floor.

Other detectives left us alone while we did our thing, but Liz was curious. She watched from the doorway while I stared at a spot in the air next to the bed.

“You see it?” I muttered to Darson, who was looking at the same area.

“Yeah, boss. I see it.” He sounded resigned, like he half expected it.

I could barely contain my anger. The same tell-tale psychic blob hovered there, just like Manny’s, Laszlo’s, and the ones at the other crime scenes. How was this happening? I paced around the room, fuming, wanting to bang my head against the wall, unable to come up with any scenario that fit. Was Multiple Man personally paying visits to my crime scenes? Were there two feeders?

I heard Darson cough and looked over at him. “Uh, boss?” He motioned with his head toward Detective Liz in the doorway, looking at us, her eyes narrowed.

I went stone faced, no expression. “Come on,” I muttered to Darson.

“Anything?” Liz asked as we passed her, leaving the room and the apartment.

I kept my voice even. “Your lieutenant will get my report.”

She fell in behind us as we walked to the elevator, broadcasting something short of insulted. “What?” It was customary for us to at least give an impression, but we weren’t required to do so. Technically, we only had to send over our report.

“You heard me, that’s it,” I said as she scampered to keep up. I mentally communicated with Darson to keep his mouth shut as we rode the elevator down in silence, with Detective Liz decidedly grumpy.

Darson seemed a little shaken up as we descended. What do you want me to put in the report, boss?

Don’t worry about it, I’ll write it myself. Keep it zipped about…you know… the thing we saw.

Yeah, got it.

##

Back in my office, I went through more of the old Heske files, tried to keep my brain nice and occupied so it wouldn’t worry about the latest crime scene sabotage. Most of the material was left untouched by Tines, so I got a good picture of how Smiling Sam grew up. An orphan from Old Arden, he’d been passed from foster home to foster home as a kid.

Copies of old social services reports detailed missing pets found mutilated and buried. As a teen, Heske bombed out of school, fell in with the DeMarco’s after he wound up in holo-gambling halls. People like Manny Bones saw he could be useful; they put him to work, mostly deliveries at first but eventually collecting. According to old reports from undercover officers, that’s where he blossomed, putting his burgeoning proclivities for violence and torture to full use. Nobody collected like Smiling Sam.

Heske in his twenties: plenty of scrapes with the law, he gets pulled in for questioning every time somebody who owes the DeMarco’s gets beaten or cut up. Nothing sticks. He does a few years after an arrest for simple assault, comes out a hardened psycho. His mark starts appearing, the smiley face, his gambling starts to get out of control.

Now I saw lots of material blacked out and psychic scrambled, but I pushed through the layers of ink and mental haze, piecing together fragments of the original words. Tines must’ve rushed, hurrying before I could interrupt his cover-up job. It was hard, though, constant scrubbing with my brain. The day stretched into early evening as a headache formed behind my eyes from the intense mental exertion, every other word barely discernable. A remedy for the pain came in the form of a few shots of bourbon from the bottle in my desk drawer.

I closed my eyes as the warmth spread through my body, easing the ache in my skull. I sighed and got back to work, coming upon what seemed like transcripts of a conversation between Heske and Narco. About the Whitney Load? No surprise there.

A report detailing the shoot-out at the warehouse, a four-alarm fire that spread in the aftermath. I saw a copy of an old insurance adjustor’s report on an adjoining building, something about interviewing witnesses. A name I could barely make out. I concentrated, willing the psychic blur to clear, focusing my will. Letters formed out of the haze: …Bart… ames..?

I threw the paper down, my brain feeling like a wet rag all wrung out. I’d been at it all day into the early evening and the dull throb in my head threatened to become worse despite the soothing effects of the bourbon. Time to call it a day. I stood up to leave when I felt a buzzing in my pocket. Puzzled, I reached in and pulled out the comm that was keyed to my personal mental pattern. My “private line,” which was interesting since nobody knew how to reach me on it.

Curious and intrigued, I put it to my ear.

“Jack?”

I snorted, recognizing the voice. It was Phil, my friendly shadow operative. I should have known. “How are you Phil? Say, do you guys have a secret handshake I should know about?” I was a little tipsy.

Phil wasn’t amused. “Jack, you have a problem.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Phil, I got so many problems they’ve got their own zip code.”

No chuckles. “You’ve got one more. That reporter, Natalie Brown. She’s running a story tomorrow.”

I swallowed, a leaden feeling in my gut. “Yeah? What about?” I already knew the answer.

“The case you went out on today, the rape/murder. Jack? Are you…?”

I clicked off, ran a hand through my hair and sat back down, pulling the bottle back out of my desk drawer. Home could wait.

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27 Feb 2012

In Plain Sight, Episode 43: Bugs and Drugs

Monday, 10:30 am – NAPD Headquarters, Special Investigations Unit

In my office, two of my detectives sat opposite me trying to absorb what I’d just told them. Big Chris Elwood came off like a blonde hayseed fresh off the farm. But he’d seen things, just like we all had. He was no innocent. Tom Darson, dark and slim, had been on an even keel ever since I helped him through a tough period a month or so ago. I knew he could handle this. Still, I could tell they had questions.

Elwood’s brow furrowed, puzzlement showing in his deep baby blues as he leaned forward. “Boss, is this legal?”

I leaned back in my chair behind my desk. “I just got word from Walter. He pushed all the warrants throughClan Court. It’s a done deal.” Clan was short for clandestine. Clan Court authorized sensitive operations that required the utmost secrecy. Warrants were sealed, and no one knew who the judges were except a select few. Like Walter.

We’d gotten warrants to eavesdrop on several key members of the DeMarco’s as well as officers in Narco, including Haggerty. The warrants covered work, home, basically wherever we saw fit. Thanks to the technology, almost any electronic device could be turned into an audio receiver/transmitter. Incredibly sensitive, too. We could hear them mutter behind their spouses’ backs, whisper sweet nothings to their lovers, listen to the sound of their butt hair growing if we wanted to.

It was Darson’s turn. He frowned. “Isn’t this more of an IAD thing?”

I crumpled up a piece of paper and tossed it at the trash can in the corner. Off the rim. “Internal Affairs investigates other cops. But not the DeMarco’s. And certainly not a case that overlaps one we’re already investigating.” I shook my head, looking at both of them. “This one’s ours.” They knew I used to work Narco, that this was personal.

Elwood tilted his head. “Okay, so we’re just on eavesdropping duty?”

I ticked off points. “First develop a list of places you want to listen to. Submit that to me. I’ll add some more and clear it with Walter, and then we’ll activate the surveillance. Go through the audio recordings in shifts. There’ll be a lot of nothing and a lot of stuff that might be interesting but we just don’t care about it. We’re looking for a drug connection between Narco and the DeMarco’s. Anything suspicious, let me know.”

All the recordings would be transmitted to a secure server that only Walter and I had access to for the duration of the operation.

Elwood and Darson both looked at each other. I could tell they foresaw long hours of listening to boring conversations between hoods and cops ahead of them. I smiled. “Feel free to book overtime on this one, guys. And if you tell anyone outside of this room what we’re doing, I’ll have your asses dipped and fried. Get me?”

They both gave me the affirmative and left, allowing me to turn my attention to the small hill of boxes that I’d liberated from Narco this morning. They lay stacked next to my desk. I opened the first one and started going through old files, case reports and officers’ notes from back when Sam Heske was among the living. Boring stuff, routine drug rousts, pushers and junkies. Tines was holding out on us for this?

I waded through the paper trail, following it until I found some reports detailing info gleaned off some mid-level snitches in the DeMarco organization. There were some times and dates of planned busts based on snitch info. Then I saw some names blacked out. My eyes narrowed. There were ways around that. I put my hand on the redacted text, closed my eyes, let my mind relax, ready to see the images of the names as they had been typed in originally.

But nothing came. All I got was garbled text that jumped and blurred and made my head hurt. There was a faint psychic signature: Tines. This was what he’d been doing, going through the files and covering up something. What? For who?

I opened my eyes and sat back in disgust. My only hope lay in the fact that we’d interrupted Tines before he’d finished his dirty work.

A knock on my door. I was glad for the interruption. It was Suzie and Crúz. They’d finished reading all the dojos and martial arts places around the area of Wheeler’s Convenience Store. Nada. Not a whiff of Multiple Man.

Time for a new angle. I thought about something Samantha told me. “Suze, I want you to go to the Galleria.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Boss?”

The Galleria was a nickname for an old train station that had been abandoned some fifteen years ago on the border of Old and New Arden. It used to house a popular shooting gallery where junkies and freaks had gathered in droves to boost themselves on every illegal substance under the sun. It had been torn down and replaced with low-income housing. But the DVs of all the addicts who’d bought it still hung around looking for that last blissful fix.

“We’re looking for a substance that our Multiple Man has been using to keep himself under control,” I said. “It’s got to be some powerful mojo, maybe pharmaceutical grade. Talk to the DV’s. Give them a general idea of the kind of psychic activity it would be used to control. They’ve tried everything. I bet they could point you in the right direction.”

I could tell she was uncomfortable with the assignment. DV addicts were not known for their friendliness or sanity. But Suzie was a pro, she just gave me a “You got it, boss,” and nodded.

I turned to Crúz. “I want you to stake out Javier DeMarco’s place. He’s at the top of the list of people our guy might target next. There are uniforms there, but I want you on the scene in case there’s any tel activity.”

Crúz gave a crooked smile. “You think he’ll go after Big Javi? I’d like to see that.”

I snorted. “Yeah, we all would. Now get moving.”

They hadn’t been gone five minutes when Darson rapped on the door and poked his head in. He vibed nervous. “Boss? We just got a case from sex crimes division. Unsolved rape and murder. They say the case has gone ice cold and want us to read the scene. You want me to go?”

My jaw clenched as my thoughts turned ominous. It was like I could feel someone just out of view pulling strings. I stood up and shoved my chair back, hurrying toward the door as I grabbed the startled Darson by the arm.

“Yeah, and I’m going with you.”

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27 Feb 2012

In Plain Sight, Episode 42: Something is Rotten in Narco

Tines showed all the signs of needing a fix: His thin face was flushed and sweaty, and his eyes kept darting around nervously. I kept my expression neutral while he pulled himself together and clamped down on the mental craving that was leaking through his shields.

He smoothed his tie down the front of his shirt. “Lieutenant, I wasn’t aware you would be stopping by. Can I help you with something?”

How about the files you’ve been keeping from us? I motioned with my head toward the boxes. “Thought we’d take these off your hands, thanks for rounding them up.”

Tines glanced over his shoulder, his nerves doing a hop, skip and a jump. “Um, of course, but I was still processing all the files, so our records would reflect…”

My bullshit meter was off the scale. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll make sure everything’s done by the book,” I said, cutting him off. Then I motioned to the uniformed cops, who started loading up the hand carts while Tines just looked on, helpless to intervene. In a few seconds the boxes were loaded and we left Tines standing there as we made our way back through the Narco squad room in silence.

This time we only made it halfway. Standing directly in front of us was Captain Haggerty himself with one of his lieutenants, Clark Haskell, a big strapping guy with a blonde crew cut and a face like a bulldog. He’d come to Narco a few years after I left.

Haggerty’s wizened face broke into a big, kindly smile as we approached, and it was impossible for me to reconcile the man I knew with what Multiple Man and Manny Bones had intimated about him. Haggerty’s surface thoughts pulsed with nothing but pleasant surprise at seeing me.

“Jack.” He came forward and shook my hand, patting me affectionately on the arm. “What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“Just collecting some files for our investigation, Sir. Routine stuff, lugging boxes from point A to point B.”

While Haggerty vibed “nice old man,” Haskell’s thoughts were like a thundercloud, dark and threatening. “I don’t think our tel’s done with those files,” he said. The way he spoke it was clear the only thing that made a tel tolerable to Haskell was that he was their tel.

While he scowled, a couple other Narco cops strolled up behind him. One guy had a head like a medicine ball, the other was tall and gangly. Everybody behind me mentally tensed and I thought, great, rumble time. Couldn’t we just arm wrestle or something equally stupid?

I looked at Haskell. “Tines seemed like he could use a break. I need these files for my investigation.” I turned back to Haggerty. “Is there a problem, here, Sir?”

Haggerty looked behind him and his expression showed annoyance. “Clark, why don’t you and your buddies go make yourselves useful?” It wasn’t a request. Haskell and the two cops—the term ‘goons’ seemed incredibly fitting—removed themselves to a cubicle, where they shot dark looks in my direction.

Haggerty turned back to me and gently but insistently steered me over to a different cubicle, where he sat on an empty desk while I stood there waiting. Now everybody was looking over at us.

Haggerty gave a little shake of his head. “Jack, I want to apologize for my men’s behavior. Sometimes they get a little carried away when they think they’re defending their turf.”

Haggerty’s skin was almost translucent the way you could see the veins criss-cross underneath. His face was skull-like, but he still had that easy-going charm. “No problem, Sir,” I replied with a smile. “I remember what it’s like.”

He chuckled. “I bet you do.” Then he gave a sigh that betrayed the weight of his thirty-five years on the job. “You more than anybody must know the stress of being a tel in a unit like ours, dealing with the prejudice inside and outside the department, the pressure of reading addicts all day long.”

I nodded grimly, remembering too well. Working in Narco posed certain risks for a tel. Eventually, their addictions could become your addictions. Was that what happened to Tines?

Haggerty nodded at me soberly, like he read my mind. “Tines is a good man, but he’s been doing this for a long time. Sometimes he goes a little too deep down that hole. He needs us to throw him a line and pull him back up. And we do cuz he’s family. I know you know what that’s like, too.”

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. It really had felt like family back then. Could all that have been a lie? Should I let it be poisoned by suspicion and doubt? “I do, Sir.”

He gave another chuckle. “Martha still asks after you, y’know. You were one of her favorites.”

Whatever doubts I had about Haggerty did not extend to his wife. “I still dream about her pecan pie, Sir.”

His eyes got all crinkly as his face split in a big smile. Then he got serious. “Jack, I wouldn’t dream of interfering or even asking about the Heske case you’re running. By all means, take the files and anything else you need. It’s this business with Emanuel Vega that’s got me a mite concerned. I wondered if I could bend your ear for a sec.”

I got very still. “Of course, Sir. What’s troubling you?”

He frowned and crossed his matchstick-thin arms. “Insofar as the murder has to do with Heske, I’m happy to stay outta your business. But we’ve been dealing with Vega for a long time. We’ve even had some undercover guys in his operation. I can’t help thinking that you might turn up some information that at first would seem confusing, just cuz you’re not familiar with the whole picture.”

I nodded slowly. “I guess I can understand that, Sir.”

He continued, his wrinkly brow furrowed even more. “Jack, what I’m asking is that if you come across any evidence about what the DeMarco’s are up to that seems confusing or strange in any way, you won’t hesitate to come to me with it, no matter how small. It may be nothing, or it may be something you need to know. But let me answer any questions you have before taking them to Boyd.” He put his hand on my shoulder, smiled and gave me a wink. “Does that sound like a reasonable request from your old boss?”

Sure, it sounded reasonable, and his surface thoughts didn’t betray any big bad vibes, either. But there was something, an undercurrent. Then I pinned it down: Haggerty was nervous, almost afraid. I’d never read that coming off him before. I couldn’t help but think he was scared I’d turn up info. that might link him and the DeMarco’s, and he wanted the chance to distance himself. And he really didn’t like Walter. That was loud and clear.

I kept my suspicions to myself. “Of course, Sir. If anything seems funny, I’ll come to you.”

He gave me another pat. “Thattaboy, Jack.”

We walked back to where my men were waiting. “How’s the retirement plans coming along?” I asked.

Haggerty threw up his hands. “You’ll have to ask Martha. She’s got so many ideas I’ve lost track. Just a few weeks and then I’m all hers. Why do I feel like a man about to eat his last meal?”

I laughed as we shook hands goodbye and I led my people out of Narco division.

Suzy came up beside me. “What was that all about?”

As soon as we left, my cheerful demeanor vanished. I felt covered in grime and experienced the unalterable realization that my old squad was no longer home to me. “Just shooting the breeze,” I replied.

I remained quiet the rest of the way back to my office as I started a mental rundown of all the things I’d need in order to begin investigating my old boss and unit, because something was rotten in Narco.

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10 Oct 2011

In Plain Sight, Episode 41: In Enemy Territory

Monday, 8:30 am – NAPD Headquarters, Special Investigations Unit

I sat at my desk listening to Chief of Detectives Franken try to sound reassuring as he spoke to me via vid screen. His deep baritone was a soft rumble, but he couldn’t hide the worry that wrinkled his weathered forehead.

“Now listen, Jack. This is just a hearing, and Beale’s not even handling yours, so you’ve got nothing to worry about. When is it set for?”

He’d asked me that three times already. “Thursday morning, sir.”

He frowned for a moment. “Hmm, that’s pretty quick. McKenna’s office suddenly has a fire under its butt. Have you contacted your union rep? You should have someone with you.”

I’d talked with Mary yesterday about that. When I mentioned bringing my rep, she just laughed and said if they were anything like when she used to try cases, I’d be better off hanging myself and saving them the effort. She insisted on me using someone she knew from law school who’d be perfect. Owed her a favor.

“Uh, I’ve actually retained private council for this,” I said.

Franken raised an eyebrow and nodded. He knew I had connections in that regard. “Good. Now just don’t make it adversarial, Jack. Hendricks is a good man and he’ll be fair.”

I smiled, gave him an innocent, “Who me?” look. “I won’t sir, and thank you again.” The one string Franken had been able to pull was getting Beale off my hearing. “Who else has been called?”

He looked down at a piece of paper and adjusted his reading glasses. “Acting Chief Braken, some other senior staff, some of Jimmy’s old political cronies and friends from the Department.”

I gave a mock bow at the waist. “And yours’ truly, the star of the show.”

He grimaced. “This may, indeed, be a show, but you need to take it seriously.”

Mary had said the same thing. Repeatedly. I dropped the sarcasm. “I will, Sir, I promise.”

Franken fixed me with his “I’m not kidding around” look. It was pretty effective. “Good, now tell me what’s happening with the Heske case. How’d he get into Manny Bones’ place?”

My guys had recreated the only plausible scenario. “We think he snuck in disguised as help during the morning, then hid in a crawl space in the attic for about fourteen hours. Then he set off an EMP device that shorted out the surveillance, dropped down and took out the security before paying Manny a visit.”

Franken shook his head, incredulous. “Your guys get anything off the DVs?”

My turn for a head shake. “Negative. He’s a pretty bad-ass tel, burnt out their minds one by one before they could even get a look at him.”

Franken paused for a second. “Jack, I don’t need to tell you the importance of this case.”

I had to stop myself from exclaiming. He had no idea the giant crapfest this case had just dumped all over my lap. “I understand, Sir, believe me. In fact, I’m about to follow up on a lead right now.”

He gave me a humorous look. It was a classic get-away. “Alright, Jack. Let me know if you need anything.” The vid screen went dark.

I wasn’t kidding, I really was about to do something related to the case.

Monday, 9:00 am – NAPD Headquarters, Narcotics Division

I stood outside Narco’s plain metal doors, Suzie and Crúz at my back with three of Amelia’s uniformed cops. They had brought a couple of handcarts. Standing here brought back a lot of memories, good ones. Or so I thought until recently. I didn’t like busting in like this, not on my old squad, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

Everyone was waiting for me. I could feel the nerves coming off Suzie and Crúz. They were ready for a fight.

I turned my head, addressing them. “Let’s take this nice and easy.”

Then I strode forward, pushing through the doors and facing the desk sergeant’s station that fronted the wide sea of cubicles and small offices. The sergeant, a grizzled vet named Donegan, looked up. I saw recognition in his eyes, he’d been in Narco back in my day. But his expression was not welcoming.

“Can I help you, lieutenant?” His face was blank but Donegan’s eyes shifted to each person in my little entourage. His surface thoughts showed suspicion as he tried to gauge our intent. There was also a deep dislike of tels. Or maybe it was just me.

Good thing I didn’t care. “I’m just here visiting friends. No, don’t bother,” I added when he moved to press the vid comm button. “Call it a surprise visit.” I pushed through the low swinging doors into the rest of the unit, motioning everyone to follow. Donegan’s eyes narrowed to slits as I passed.

I set a brisk pace for the back offices, knowing that the desk sergeant had probably called ahead. We cut a strange sight hustling through Narco. I saw people I recognized, several I didn’t. I got to Tines’ office before anybody could stop me. Or maybe I was just being paranoid. Well, more paranoid than usual. Maybe I didn’t have anything to worry about.

Tines’ office was shut. I could sense him in there. His thoughts were a jangle of nerves and fear, surprisingly raw and unshielded. I opened the door quickly, not bothering to knock. The space was about twenty by twenty. Tines was sweating profusely and moving about in a manic fashion, rifling through the contents of numerous boxes marked Archives. I presumed these were the old Heske files I’d asked for several times. Since seeing Tines’ name on the records in Emanuel Vega’s study, I’d become deeply suspicious of him. Of all of Narco for that matter.

That’s why the surprise inspection. Tines froze. He turned around, tried to act calm, pleasantly surprised, but his mind was putting out vibes that gibbered at me, rank with hateful desire and self-loathing. I could feel Suzie and Crúz mentally recoil at the unpleasantness.

That’s when it hit me. The signs were all there, though just in brief flashes. I should have realized from my long experience with Claire. Lawrence Tines was a cotton candy addict.

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19 Sep 2011

In Plain Sight, Episode 40: Wiped

Psych wipe. It was something the Thought Police did only for the most sensitive cases. Scramble the psychic echoes in a room so completely the place couldn’t be read.

I nodded, breathing an inward sigh of relief. “I’m glad you agree, Sir.” Technically speaking, we were suppressing evidence. But if this got out and Narco really was dirty, technically speaking I was a walking DV.

Walter had his hand pressed to the comm in his ear, speaking in a low murmur. He clicked off. “Jack, my men will be here shortly.”

We had a little time to kill. I asked him if he’d made any progress regarding the leak. Walter’s eyes got a cold gleam. “One thing’s for sure, Natalie Brown is on Sherman Harcher’s payroll. So we know who’s behind it.”

I crossed my arms, grimacing. “Whaddaya think the game is?”

He gave me a calculating look, started ticking off points. “Harcher hates tels, spooks most of all. Especially you. He wants you and your unit gone. Gina and Jimmy aren’t around to protect you anymore. It makes sense to discredit you leading up to the investigation hearings. Turn up the pressure from the public, make the Department ease you and your people out quietly.”

Yeah, my paranoia had come up with a similar theory. “So who’s leaking the info? How?”

He frowned and shook his head. “That’s tougher. Whoever it is has a good cover. I’m still working on it.”

Work harder. “Tail the reporter?”

He smiled. “Already have. She’s good, nothing’s slipped yet. But something will.”

We tossed around some more theories until there was a knock on the door. Two of Walter’s people came in wheeling some high-tech gear on carts. One was a guy I didn’t know, the name on his chest read McLemons. The other was Walter’s side kick. Jerome didn’t look so hot, pale and glassy eyed.

Walter didn’t let it show, but he was giving off a worried vibe, plainly not happy to see him.

Jerome seemed to be moving kind of slow, but his hands were steady. I remembered how he’d reacted at the last homicide scene. “Jerome seems like a trooper, sir,” I said, trying to reassure him. “Besides, it’s not like he’s a homicide cop or anything. I doubt he’ll see too many of these.”

Walter raised an eyebrow at me. “Of course you’re right.”

We got out of the way while the two officers set up small tripods holding different sized metal rods that ended in thin filaments of glass or crystal. They put one in each corner of the room and another in the center. There were a lot of dials and nodes they kept fiddling with until finally it seemed like they were ready. I guess. I didn’t really know what they were doing.

McLemons nodded to Walter, who turned to me. He motioned for us to leave the room and everybody filed out, closing the door behind us. We stood there.

I looked from face to face. “Okay, now what?”

Walter smiled. “Sorry, I forgot you’ve never done one of these. Just wait about five seconds.”

I raised my eyebrows and counted down. Nothing. I was about to comment when I noticed something faint in the back of my head. Like a low whine. I looked at Walter, who just nodded reassuringly, like this was normal. It built slowly, not so much the sound but the vibration until it was humming and buzzing through my whole body. It built until it felt like my brain was a giant tuning fork somebody had just smacked with a baseball bat.

Finally it faded and I swallowed a few times out of reflex like I needed to clear my ears. We went back into the room and McLemons and Jerome checked their instruments. They gave Walter the thumbs up and he turned to me. “Jack, why don’t you give it a try?”

“Okay.” I closed my eyes and centered, let my mind go receptive. But no images played across my inner eye. There was only chaotic distortions and incoherent noise, like a scrambled vid screen played underwater. I opened my eyes, nodding. “That’s pretty impressive.”

He gave me the shark grin. “I do have my uses.”

I didn’t mention that Manny Bones’ remains still hung there like a psychic smear. I guess some things you couldn’t Wipe. The two officers packed up their instruments and wheeled them out, Jerome looking grateful to get out of here. I couldn’t blame him. Manny’s corpse was starting to stink.

I took one last look around. “Sir, if we’re done here, I’m going to have Amelia call the crime scene guys and the ME’s office. I’ll also have my guys come and read the other DV’s.”

“Sounds good, Jack.” He reached over to the desk and picked up the stack of papers, offering them to me. His heavy lidded eyes regarded me. “Why don’t you keep these somewhere safe.”

He didn’t have to say it. I understood. The papers were not to go into evidence. No one was to know about them. I took them without saying a word, fitting them snugly under my arm.

Walter’s demeanor lightened. “Alright then, home for you?”

I thought about that, wincing involuntarily. “Yeah, I gotta go make amends to the date I cut out on.”

Walter chuckled. “I’ll be turning in myself.” He yawned and stretched theatrically. “I’m not such a spring chicken anymore.”

We both walked out of the room and down the hall. I stopped to talk to Sergeant Baker at the front of the compound. Walter paused before leaving. “Let me know if you need anything on this one, Jack. And be careful.” He walked off into the night.

A few minutes later, I sat in my Interra 6, dog tired and ready to head back to Mary’s. My thoughts were buzzing like the psych wipe instruments were still going off in my head. Another Multiple Man murder, Manny Bones dead, Narco and Haggerty implicated in the drug heist of the century. It was almost too much. I shook my head, deciding to just sleep on it. Things would be clearer in the morning.

But before I could start the car, the little vid screen in the dash panel lit up. A woman’s face looked out at me. She wore the officious expression of some minor government functionary. “Lieutenant Jack Garrett?” Her voice was even, no inflection.

Did I get a parking ticket or something? “Yes?” I answered.

She had no facial expression whatsoever. “Lean forward please.”

Well, this was interesting. I bent toward the vid screen, saw the red flashes that meant a retinal scanner was verifying my identity.

“Thank you, you’ve been served.” The screen went dark. I heard the hum as a small stiff card printed from a port on my dash. I looked at it, my throat suddenly dry.

Below the raised seal of the city of New Arden, it said: Official Subpoena, Fifth Circuit of New Arden. You are hereby ordered to appear in person before the clerk of this court….

There was a lot of official mumbo jumbo, but I knew what it meant. I was being ordered to appear for questioning in the deaths of Gina and Jimmy. The other shoe had finally dropped. I just wondered how far up my rear they were going to shove it.

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05 Sep 2011

In Plain Sight, Episode 39: A Little Help From a Friend

I waited about twenty minutes before Walter poked his head out of Manny’s study. “Jack why don’t you join me in here?”

I told Amelia not to let anyone in and then I entered. Everything was pretty much as I remembered. Body. Blood. Blob.

Walter leaned against the desk, his arms crossed. “Well, so much for Manny Bones. That was disturbing on a number of levels and there was definitely something going on that I didn’t get. It looked like our suspect was trying to make some connection with the DV. I don’t have your gift, what did you make of that?”

Right, because he wouldn’t have seen the whole soul sucking thing. I guessed that if I actually wanted Walter’s help, I needed to bring him in on this. “There’s not much left of the DV, Sir.” I had his full attention. I took a breath. “Because… our suspect ate him. Absorbed his psychic energy. The imprint’s so degraded that contact is impossible.”

Walter stared at me. Even he seemed unnerved. “Ate him?”

I nodded. “Like you or I would wolf down a burger. It’s why Smiling Sam’s inside him. He must’ve absorbed him ten years ago. Probably absorbed a lot of other people, too. He was going to do the same thing at Wheeler’s Convenience store but didn’t have time. This is the first time I’ve seen him do it firsthand.” I really wasn’t sure when I was going to tell Walter about this, but that was all water under the bridge now. I was not going to tell him about my unit’s other crime scenes.

He shook his head then got up and walked over to the wall of blood, directly across from the smiley face, and stood staring at it. His voice sounded almost haunted. “He’s like a… psychic vampire?”

“Not quite. He feeds on leftover psychic energy, and from what I understand, there aren’t many cases that make it to his age without going crazy.”

His voice was soft. “Sounds like you know about this.”

I shrugged. “I did a bit of research is all.” No way I was getting any more into that.

Walter’s back was to me as he stared at the bloody signature, his surface thoughts giving off horror, sadness. Was that a flash of remorse? Then he turned back to me. “This can’t get out. The normal population will be terrified of us even more, Jack.”

Good, I liked that reaction. “I wasn’t planning on putting it in any of my reports, sir.”

Walter calmed down and then asked me in an oddly curious voice, “What was it like, when he… ate him?”

I swallowed, reliving those few horrible moments… Manny sliding away into oblivion. “I could barely keep my dinner down. I never want to see anything like that again, sir. We need to catch this nut job.”

He seemed lost in thought for a moment, responding in a far away voice. “Yes, quite right.” Then he came back from wherever he’d gone, looking at me real serious. “But that’s not why you called me, is it?”

I shook my head. “No sir. The Whitney Load. Narco. Captain Haggerty.”

He looked grim. “Yes, quite a scenario to have dumped in our lap. And Tines, too?” Walter was sharp. “Jack, you used to work in Narco back then. Could something like this actually happen?”

I thought back to before my unit, before the Quads, when I was a tel under Haggerty. Seemed like a simpler time or maybe I was just too wet behind the ears to see what was really going on. “Sir, back then our roles were very limited. We read people who were brought in to us, gave our reports, and that was pretty much it. We weren’t allowed to go out on cases, do much field work. Yes, I was in Narco when the whole warehouse deal went down, but I wasn’t actually at the scene. The other guys just told me what happened. I was never really in the loop. I suppose I could’ve been kept out of it going forward, but still…” I heard the incredulousness in my own voice. “…Haggerty? The man was like a father to us, practically a saint.” I picked up the faintest hint of doubt coming off of Walter. I tilted my head. “Sir, you were in Vice back then, right? You ever hear about anything like this?”

He drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment. “Our units crossed paths frequently. There were always rumors about Narco – officers getting hooked, selling on the side — but there were rumors just as bad about Vice. Nothing anyone paid attention to.”

“I think we’d better pay attention to this.”

Walter stared at Manny’s body against the wall, arms spread wide in some grotesque supplication. “Indeed. This information was discovered pursuant to your case, Jack. How do you want to handle it?”

Ball’s in my court, huh? “Sir, I have two officers assigned to the Heske investigation, I’d like to take the other two and put them on this.”

Walter looked like he was searching his memory for a moment. “Elwood and Darson, yes? And you’re going to run this one, too?”

I nodded. “Yes. For whatever reason, Sam Heske is now fixated on the Whitney Load, so the cases overlap.”

He gave me a knowing look. “And you’d really like to prove Haggerty had nothing to do with this.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “I’m not going to lie to you. I owe him a lot.” Then I looked Walter in the eye. “But I’ll get to the bottom of this, no matter what.”

He studied me for a long moment, judging, weighing. “Alright, Jack. Take the ball and run. What’s your first move?”

I’d already thought of that. “Surveillance and tails, arms-length stuff. See what we can get off of remote sensors from the DeMarco’s and key Narco personnel.”

His face held an amused look. “And since I happen to be in a position to personally authorize all that…?”

It was true, the head of the Thought Police could sanction pretty much anything. “Sir, that’s not the only reason I called you.”

I was about to explain that no one else could find out what was said in this room, but the look Walter gave me said he already knew. “Of course, Jack. This place needs to be wiped.” He gave me a knowing wink which I found a little creepy. But since he was also the only one who could authorize that, too, it proved that I had indeed, called the right person.

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