JUSTICE REBORN (A Charlie Taylor Novel Book 1) (8 page)

 Our victim’s face looks like a Ford F-150
truck ran over it.

 I’ve been delayed getting to the hospital.
A few months ago when the Chief transferred me to Records he ignored me, now he
insists on making sure I conform to all current Homicide standards. During my
absence, he introduced a new set of forms which are really a declaration that
each detective must sign: Have you read all the relevant JR material? Do you
understand the process before an S1 interrogation can be initiated? And, a few
others. I’m not skipping one bloody hurdle. Jesus, he even made me go to the
shooting range; I understand this weapon’s recertification is important:
particularly if I encounter Billy the Kid.

 I feel rushed; it’s my second day without
a drink. This is going to be one helluva of a day. Finally, Karen and I are at
the hospital where Horny Harry’s last surviving victim is recovering, but the
lady fades in and out of consciousness. Karen is intrusive and demanding;
nevertheless, the hospital staff perceives a dedicated woman, and cooperation
is not an issue. I know she spends many extra hours near the victim, hoping
there will be a lucid moment. Shit, this is a delusion.

The young woman is in the Intensive Care
Unit which is one of the floors where money has been invested. The place is
spotless, bright, no chipped corners or stained walls, looks like a mission
control center. The nursing station is a large circular affair in the middle of
the floor with all the patient rooms radiating out from this nucleus like
spokes of a wheel.  From the center hub nurses can see every patient as well as
monitor their vital signs on the multitude of over-sized screens, all very
impressive.

Karen, without the demands of a husband or
family, has been putting in long hours. This particular case really pisses her
off. This guy is cruel, sloppy and a narcissist who doesn’t give a damn. He
wants a reputation as a great lover and then proceeds to rape and beat the women
to death. Only two were fortunate to survive, the last one in the next room.

I didn’t plan to interview the victim; I
wanted a private discussion with Karen and here is where she spends her free
time. I’m concerned about her obsession with the case. Was she losing her
objectivity?

Karen is a number of years away from
retiring, but has property on the coast and uses her vacation time getting it
ready for occupancy. She is an excellent planner and problem solver who will
find some less demanding work on the coast. I’m not too sure I’m her favorite
detective, let alone her first choice as a supervisor. Jesus, I hope I didn’t
make a pass at her in the last 12 months. I can’t remember!

I’m trying to keep the smartass stuff to
myself. Actually it is not proving too difficult. As we review all the victims
and each attack, I find myself slipping into the routine, absorbing details,
excluding the outside world, full focus on the killings. It is good to be back.
It’s been a long time.

“Charlie, listen I am really pleased that
you are now in charge. Why are you looking at me like that?  I mean it. I know
you can be a real jerk at times, but that comes with being a male. I want to
catch this guy and I know you’ll be a big plus for us.”

I’m a little shocked. “Thanks, you may not
appreciate how much that means …I “

She wouldn’t let me finish. No time for a
private chat with this fireball.

“No more, let’s get back at it. We all know
your situation and we’re on your side. You see this package? Just came over a
few minutes ago. This is from your FBI friend, the sound technician or whatever
he does. He told me he was able to clean up the tape and thinks 100% what we
hear will be accurate. Almost as unbelievable is how fast he responded; he must
really owe you a big favor. One day and he cleaned up the recordings.”

She unwraps the package then loads the
edited recording for playback. She was able to record four different statements
the poor woman blurted. The slurred words sounded like someone mumbling with a
mouth full of small stones; a broken jaw and multiple facial injuries will do
that. In fact, I don’t know how this last victim survived.

“Your sound technician reconstituted each
of the four recordings to a point where most words are recognizable. At least
that is what he told me. Next, he rearranged the sentences and phrases to
develop a logical sequence. He says we now have a recording which sounds like a
victim’s statement.”

She pushes a few buttons and the small
portable unit delivers an excellent sound quality which surprises us both. I
think we owe the FBI big time on this one.

The voice is not the girl’s but some type
of computer generated sound.

It doesn’t sound too strange; it sounds
like a young woman, under stress, and there are gaps, like she is thinking
about the next string of words. This is more than I expected.

“ The taxi was a dark color…I think a
dark green…..he had on one of those old-fashioned cabbie hats……it was pulled
down and I couldn’t see his face…..the cabbie opened the back door …….. I was
just settling into the back seat ….I was looking down …a sharp needle or dart
hit my neck…. it felt like my head exploded ……….I don’t know how long I was
out………..when I came to it was dark …really dark...that’s all I could see………..he
was already on top of me…I couldn’t see his face ……….I was facing down in the
back seat …one door was open because my feet were outside ….…I could feel the
breeze…………he tore off my pants and held an enormous knife against my throat
……….….I could feel him enter me and then he leaned down close to my ear and
whispered very, very softly… I could barely hear him………. if you want to live
you do as I say……..when I squeeze your right shoulder you cry out, ‘Horny Harry
you are the best’……….when I squeeze your left shoulder you cry out, ‘I love
you’….and you had better be loud and convincing……then he straightened up and
started laughing and calling me names, like ‘sweetie and lover’…………..he
squeezed my shoulders and I cried out as loud as I could and used all the
phrases he wanted me to  ….he seemed to love it because he got more excited and
laughed even louder……..then he was finished and put away the knife and I
thought I had survived……………..he turned me over and start hitting me with his
fists …..….it felt like someone was hitting me with a rock….. I passed out ..”

Karen is stunned. “Unbelievable. Goddamn
unbelievable. I thought we would be waiting a couple of weeks to get her
statement. She thought she was getting into a regular cab –––that I’d guessed,
but all the rest is new.” We play it a number of times. It’s a lot of new
information, but I’m not sure how it helps.

There is something bothering me about the
recording, and I start my pacing routine. Karen leaves to get coffee. While I
am waiting and pacing, I hits me. I know what doesn’t fit.

 Karen gives me a coffee and sits on a
window sill; I give her me observation. “One of the weird things about this is:
he appears to be playing to an audience. Why does he bend down and whisper in
her ear?  She said she could barely hear him. Why not just tell her what he
wants her to say or do? Only the two of them are in the cab. Why not just tell
her?  Why the soft whisper? Was there someone outside the cab? Someone outside
would not hear the soft whispers, just her loud declarations of love.”

“Charlie, you think this guy has a partner,
watching and listening, getting off on this charade of a seduction? You’re not
suggesting another couple? Or the same two as doing the hotels, are you?”

I leave Karen without any answers. I’m
still in running mode, not the best mode for analysis. Not much is making
sense. I want to say: it feels like the world is falling apart and then it
comes to me. It is: every day the news media reminds us of our environmental hell.

His wife said he looked like a confident
pundit, and the public agreed.

 Stephen married immediately after
university to his high school sweetheart, a girl who almost matched his
intellect, but more importantly, for him: Stella was raised in an upper-class
home. She knew all the accepted protocols and nuances demanded at this level of
society and enjoyed the social and career climbing game.

While Stephen pursued his career, they
raised a son and daughter, both now independent and working miles from home
base. His legal career was a standard progression: a prosecuting attorney, a
criminal defense lawyer, partner in a law firm and finally a position on the
bench, with a reputation as a thorough and formidable presence.

  With Justice Reborn came his last
promotion as the Judge of Sector 14, a position so new and ill-defined even the
people who appointed him did not fully understand it. Not everyone at Regional,
which was the administrative body supervising six different Sectors, was in
favor of his appointment. Some felt he was too quick to look for opportunities
to assist the accused, and this was not an attitude which Regional wanted in
the new take-no-prisoners world.

After years of dealing with miscreants,
lawyers, and detectives Stephen had developed an uncanny ability to read and
assess people, often in a matter of minutes. Did this skill fail him when he
selected his Board? Doug Brewster, head of Legal, had the legal expertise, but
Stephen began to understand the man’s ambition could be a problem. The Chief,
Duncan Stirling, projected a calm, stable persona, reflecting tradition and
firmness but lacked the imagination to deal with the changing world. Jacob
Konahouse, in charge of Prisons, was not qualified, but there had not been a
choice for his position.

Dr. Kate’s appointment had been
problematic, and he had not been sure she would accept. They had a history,
only known by a few of their closest friends. It had been one of the few times
Stephen lost control and took inordinate chances with his marriage and career.
The passion had been overwhelming, suffocating any reason he tried to bring to
the situation. The affair’s whirlwind start, the extreme emotions, and the
abrupt ending were all part of his unrelenting memories.

But he had a more immediate problem: the
Dr. Max case simmered as Legal meticulously crawled over the girl’s accusation
and Max’s priors. Although the man was a national figure, the incident occurred
in his Sector: he would be expected to resolve the issue.

                                                 
# # #

His house was in the southwest corner of the
city. The neighborhood, although not zoned for the rich and famous, was
certainly a prestigious community. His home reflected his status and matched
the community in appearance and size. Stella had supervised every step of its
construction and monitored its maintenance and that of their meticulous yard. 

She knew what his position demanded and
made many sacrifices to keep him on an even keel. Although she felt
unappreciated, she knew this was not a novel emotion for most women in her
setting. Stella told Stephen he was lucky he had her, and he agreed. Stephen
walked in the side door from the garage. “Stella, how much time to I have?”

“Damn it Stephen, don’t start multitasking
again. Not tonight. There is life beyond your Board. I have the Marshalls
coming over before we leave, so hurry and get dressed. This is our Symphony
night, and you can’t leave early. We are going to supper right after the
performance, and it’s going to be a full night with no shop talk.”

Stephen started to reply but thought it
would just trigger more comments. He ran up the stairs; his shirt, tie, and
suit were waiting on the bed. Steve used to enjoy Stella’s organizational
skills and her take charge approach to their social life and their home. After
his appointment as Sector Judge, there was less time available for a social
life. This reduction upset Stella, who enjoyed being with a crowd and all the
associated glamor; as the decline grew her frustration blossomed. Stephen knew
their relationship was sliding and resolved to make more time. This resolution
got destroyed on a daily basis as each new crisis erupted.

As he showered and dressed his mind still
raced with the implications of the S3 problems. Maybe he should have informed
the Regional Director; instead, he had decided to keep the issue within the
Board. If confronted at a later date, he would argue it was a procedural
problem which, at the time, he was sure would be resolved.

 Besides, to inform the Region would have
created alarms which would give opponents to Justice Reborn more ammunition.
This was solid reasoning as long as all the S3 issues were procedural problems;
but, if the memory streams were not duplicates, the Regional Director would be
furious.

Normally Stephen would have warned the
Region but recent exchanges with the Region left him uncomfortable.  At times
it appeared the Region already knew about incidents before he reported; their
response had been too fast and too well prepared, not a simple reaction. In
some ways this was a test to see if the news reached the Region before he told
them.  The risk appeared reasonable as long as the science of the S3
interrogation remained solid with no flaws.

While he was dressing, Stella was
downstairs giving instructions. The distance between them was too great, and he
could not unravel the words. Finally she yelled up the stairwell.

“Stephen, hurry down the Marshalls are
here. We’re starting on some cocktails.”

He had finished dressing but couldn’t stop
reflecting on the rapid changes in his life. Justice Reborn provided him with
significant power and authority; but, he felt compassion should be part of the
equation, and he thoroughly reviewed each recommendation.

“Damn it Stephen, aren’t you dressed?”

Steve was already on his way down when the
yelling occurred. “Hi, Marilyn, George. Great to see you; let me get my drink.”

They exchanged some local gossip, and the
ladies retired to touch up their makeup. Stephen and George took their drinks
outside onto the deck. George was a real estate developer and kept a close
watch on public attitudes and tastes. His next question came as a surprise.
“Steve, are you aware of some of the rumors circulating about the S3
Interrogation?”

Steve’s years of experience allowed him to
maintain his poise and relaxed manner. “Nothing has reached me. What is it? Is
there a sexual component?”

 “You think all business men are only
interested in money or sex.  Right?   Don’t grin at me.  No….it was not about
sex. The rumor is; some of the interrogations have proven unreliable or faulty.
It’s a hot piece of gossip all over the office. I heard it a few times. It is
coming from our sales staff who work in Sector 13.”

Stephen retained his composure, tasted his
drink and gave a small chuckle. “Oh, that one from Sector 13. It’s been around
for the past week. The opponents of Justice Reborn pull that rumor out of the
hat about every four or five weeks. It’s a tactic which tries to create doubt
and confusion without having to prove anything. You can take my word: the
memory scans are solid.”

Stephen and George were close friends, but
nothing would make Stephen leak a Board secret. Friendship seemed to be sliding
along with his marriage. Was he prepared to sacrifice everything? Friends and
relatives didn’t understand he couldn’t trust anyone outside his tight legal
circle. Had he become too cautious? No, it wasn’t possible to share these
issues with family and friends. The system demanded a tight lid.

Stella came to get them. The alcohol had
softened her, and she leaned on Stephen and held his arm. “Well George, have
you been able to get Stephen in the mood?”

Both men smiled. George probably understood
Stephen as well as anyone, and he sensed his friend’s withdrawal. There seemed
to be a regular pattern; any discussion, beyond superficial comments, about
Justice Reborn, and Steve quickly changed the subject. It left the impression
Steve’s friends couldn’t be trusted to understand the implications or gravity
of the new system of justice.

George thought about Stella’s complaint:
Stephen was thoroughly entangled in his new appointment, marriage and
friendship slipping off the table.