“So, you didn’t know he’d manipulated this particular video, the one of the deceased, a mister Jonathan Lee.”
Hernandez gives his head a shake. I can see raw data flowing in the reflection of his specs, and even that glimpse gives me a headache. “No, sir. All we know was he’d been accessing the backend of Beximo’s A.I. platform. He had enough clearance that we couldn’t monitor what he was doing, we just knew he didn’t need to be in there and couldn’t figure out what he was up to. But with enough time and surveillance….” He shrugs. “Anyway, now we know. He was….”
“Killing people,” I say. “Allegedly.”
Hernandez shrugs again, turns his attention away from the info dump and back to me. “On the bright side, we’ve frozen all his Maytime accounts, which means he has no access to the corporate servers, nor the A.I. Not even his finance account. He’s in the cold.”
I nod again, rub my eyes.
“Any way what he was doing to this galactic brain you’ve built here could be tied to what happened to Mr. Lee? Forensics say he was microwaved, that his organs were melted by some sort of external blast of energy, or sound? We think it was some sort of frequency that scrambled up Mr. Lee’s insides and popped him like a blister.”
Hernandez frowns. “Detective Merriweather, the only things our Beximo devices are capable of is relaying information, playing music, and controlling any digital applications or appliances tied into the unique network of their residence.”
“Play music, huh?”
To his credit, Hernandez gives this some thought. “Tell you what, leave me your card and I’ll have my techs look into it. Fair?”
“As Scarborough. Look, you’ve been a fourth ace, and I appreciate it. I have one more question. Any idea where this fella might be hiding out? His home is under surveillance, as are the residences of his known associates. You’ve seen that list. Anything we’re missing?”
He taps his glass a few times, brings up a new screen. I assume he’s taking another look at our little list, mainly relatives, an ex-wife, and a couple drinking buddies Harris had been recorded out on the town with a few times. I wait for him to shake his head again, already thinking about next moves, when his eyes brighten and his mouth curls into a sinister smile.
“Actually, there is a place I don’t see here. Not sure why. He possibly owns it under an alias. I have no clue. But it’s definitely not on your list.”
I sit up, not ashamed to feel a surge of adrenaline. I wanted this guy. I wanted him bad. “I’m listening.”
“He was always bragging about his fishing cabin out on Sabbath Lake. He’d go there, hell I don’t know, at least once a month.” Hernandez looks at me evenly, and for a second, I almost buy the bit about us being in this together. “He said it was his home away from home.”
I TELL THE CAPTAIN ABOUT my new lead, and she agrees to send three squad cars with me as backup. We find the cabin easy enough using satellite and cross-referencing ‘Gemini Harris’ with any known aliases. Turns out the guy isn’t that fancy, he just used his mother’s maiden name to purchase the lakefront property, along with several other properties scattered around the country. He even has a small villa in France. All under the name Gemini Yu. The mother’s dead so my hunch is she doesn’t mind the unapproved usage. The father’s in a hospice outside Jersey and suffers from Alzheimer’s. Most of the time he doesn’t even know his son exists, much less the status of his land holdings.
There’s only one main road we must secure in case Gemini makes another of his famous getaways. I position two of the squad cars about half a mile either way. If he somehow gets by me again, he won’t have much room to roam. Yeah, he could jump in a boat and head into the lake, but I’m not as dumb as I look and took the precaution of requisitioning two patrol boats from the local Sabbath P.D., a radio squawk away if needed.
Now that I’m ready to approach our perp, I bring the third car with me to park on a dirt shoulder about a block from the residence, tell them the suspect is armed and quite fond of making holes in things, so we all agree to go in cautious.
The cabin itself is more of a summer home. I was expecting log walls and an outdoor well but, after bumbling through trees and heavy brush for a half-hour, come upon a two-story house with dark wood siding, a deck the size of my entire apartment, and a shiny car in the driveway. I glance toward the lake where a path cuts through a dense row of trees. Rippling blue water and the white flash of a boat are just visible through the heavy green.
I turn to one of the blue suits, a kid who looks fresh from the academy, but there’s steel in his eyes so I’m satisfied he’ll do the gig. “I want you keeping on that outlet to the lake. If he heads for that boat, you get him. If he gets by you, don’t sweat it, but call Sabbath P.D., they got two ducks in the pond, kapeesh?”
The kid nods, and I point to the other one. She looks as if she’s been doing this awhile, her eyes almost bored. But after our brief bout of exercise through the trees she ain’t breaking a sweat and I look like I went over Niagara in a barrel, so she checks out as my door buster. I note her nametag, wanting to respect her veteran status. “Shepard, I’m gonna find a way to sneak in the back, I want you to go around the front and knock, nice and loud, like you’re saving souls. I find it difficult to believe he’ll answer, but he might decide to light some firecrackers so keep to the side of the door, will ya?” I look at both of them. “No one gets shot today.”
The kid nods and heads for the dock, presumably to hide among the topiary. My Girl Friday heads for the front, and I start looking for weak links around the back of the structure.
I find one in the form of a small window just above the grass, leading presumably to a basement. I wrap a worn-out handkerchief around my pistol and wait.
Soon as I hear Shepard start banging holy hell on the front door, barking that it’s the police department and really giving him the riot act, I smash the window, silent but for the tinkle of glass to the floor below. I clear the sill of shards and slide through, feet-first.
The room is cold, dark, and empty but for some stored items—a dusty kayak, some boxes, an unloved set of chairs—and head for the stairwell.
I’m halfway to the upper level when—I’ll be damned—I hear the front door being opened. Muffled voices. I tip-toe to the top step and stick my ear to the wood, trying to pick up what’s being said.
The voices are closer, and I hear Shepard asking to “take a look around”, which doesn’t thrill me. I debate my next move: let her handle it and wiggle back out the way I came, look for a clean entrance? Or do I bust out of the basement like the boogie man and cuff the skippy bastard?
The voices continue, growing distant, then I hear footsteps on another set of stairs. They’re heading for the second floor, which makes my decision an easy one.
I slip through the door and make for the entrance, figure I’ll play it as if I let myself in after my associate made contact. We have him surrounded; he isn’t running anywhere—not this time—so I let myself strut a bit.
In the foyer I look to my left and see stairs going up. The front door is slightly ajar, which helps my fairy tale.
That’s when I hear a door slam upstairs, followed by a woman’s scream. Feet pound down the hallway above, coming right at me.
“God damn it!” I bark, furious at myself for being so careless and letting my cop get handled the way he handled me. I pull my pistol and head for the stairs when the screaming is replaced by a sound like nails on a chalkboard. My stomach cramps and my head sings with pain. I drop to my knees, gasping for air. Spots cloud my vision.
Couple seconds later, the sound stops.
What the Christ was that?
I get to my feet and stagger up the steps. As I reach the top a body plows into mine going full-speed and I instinctively clutch for limbs as I begin to tumble backwards. I find one but it’s useless because it’s falling as well, and we both go ass-over-teakettle down the stairs. Ten years later we hit the bottom and sprawl out like a couple of snow angels. I feel bruised but not broken. I turn my head and see exactly what I expect.
Gemini Harris is staring at me like I’m outer space, all glassy-eyed, mouth working like a fish in a canoe. I note the protrusion of a mystery bone pushing the skin at the base of his neck into a teepee, and know he’s a goner.
I get an elbow beneath me, forget about looking for my gun because it won’t be needed. I give the dying man my full attention.
“Where’s the cop?” I ask, curious if he’ll be able to answer. I’m pretty sure I know where the bored-eyed officer is, but keep it close to the vest for the moment, hoping I’m wrong.
Harris moves his tongue around, looks scared of what’s coming for him. But he’s passionate about our chat and manages to verbalize despite whatever that bone is saying hello from the wrong part of his neck. “Dead,” he says.
Damn it.
