CHAPTER 20
Night crept over Gambling City by the time Locke reached the Homicide office. It took thirty-five minutes to get there, mainly because he couldn’t find the knob for the headlights. Hiss neglected to point it out. He drove with them off the entire way.
Pulling up, he felt like he’d never left, like this building was still his workplace. The detectives would be gone. None of them liked to put in any overtime. If a murder didn’t get solved that day, it could always wait for tomorrow.
He used his old office key to open the front door, having found it in his living quarters’ computer desk. It sat there the entire time during the Hamilton hunt. By complete accident and forgetfulness, he didn’t turn it in days ago.
Locke smelled the aroma of old coffee, passing the desk where the receptionist made a pass at him a few days before. Through a series of double doors, he entered the office area where Hamilton yelled out the sentence that still bothered Locke. Everything appeared the same. Desks cluttered. Paperwork stacked anywhere a space could be found. Pictures of murderers on the bulletin board. A half-eaten OWG Donut on the edge of a desk.
The Homicide computer waited for him, humming on standby. He punched a couple of keys and the screen came to life.
Crime scene photographers downloaded their pictures into the computer, so all of them could be accessed without having to thumb through stacks of photos. He found Hamilton’s file. It was ten times larger than any other. Not surprising. Hamilton’s work was prodigious as much as it was mysterious.
With a few clicks of the mouse, the list of each murder victim appeared on the screen, listed by date. The murder of William “Billy” Cardon, Hiss’ partner, was first.A murder Locke knew all too well. He died two miles from where Locke sat.
He clicked on Cardon’s name and the screen changed. The file listed all the information from the case. Cardon’s height, weight, date of birth, etc. It detailed his murder. A blue box highlighted the word, “Photos.” Locke clicked it and the screen changed again.
Locke winced, reliving the moment from over two years ago. Also remembering he didn’t believe the reports it was a Govicide Agent until he saw it for himself.
In the first picture, Agent Cardon lay prostrate on his back, a thick wad of rolled-up pamphlets sticking out of his mouth. The picture was taken from about ten feet away, Cardon’s feet in the foreground and head in the background.
Locke studied the picture as the rest of the memories returned. Getting the call, being told he’d better not botch the investigation, taking four different buses to get to the scene.
Studying the picture further, he saw it as the starting line, the scene that put him in a race against time. He didn’t know it then, of course. Yet, had this crime been committed anywhere else, he believed his current problem wouldn’t exist. Somehow, events would have happened in a different order and Jade wouldn’t be pregnant against a mandate.
If only . . .
He also remembered thinking the crime would be solved in no time, as most Homicides were.
If only . . .
And he’d be able to continue with his life in whatever way the OWG planned.
If only . . .
Locke clicked the right-pointing arrow on the screen and the next picture appeared. This was a similar picture taken from the side. Cardon’s head was on the left, feet on the right, revealing Cardon’s bulging eyes and his distorted throat. The OWG Medical Examiner said the killer, whose name wasn’t known at the time, stuck the OWG pamphlets eight inches into Cardon’s windpipe. Bruises on the Agent’s chest revealed the killer sat on top of Cardon to do it.
Locke imagined being there, his eyes glazing over and the screen going out of focus. Cardon thrashing around trying to get Hamilton off him, while the murderer held the Agent on the ground. Hamilton reaching for the pamphlets and stuffing them down Cardon’s throat. The Agent gasping for air as the killer pushed them in further. And it all ending in a decrescendo as Cardon’s body with each ticking second moved less and less until it never moved again.
The picture show Cardon’s throat distended from the pamphlets still being stuck there. Locke cringed, his own throat reverberating. Some of Hamilton’s other crimes scenes were even more gruesome.
Picture after picture, he sifted through the entire gallery, not seeing anything unusual like the U.
He was about to click the arrow one more time, when he noticed something. A mark on the ground beside Cardon’s body. The camera flash had been strong enough to brighten it. The mark was far enough from the body that it wasn’t in the close-up pictures.
At first glance, it looked like an unusual footprint. But instead of the entire print, it looked like just the heel of a shoe made an indentation in the dirt. Locke clicked on the picture to zoom in.
It wasn’t a footprint.
It was a U.
Locke’s hand fell from the mouse. His body jerked back, the chair going up on two wheels for a split second. His heart accelerated to the speed of a bird’s wings.
Somewhat nondescript, Hamilton drew the U in the ground three feet from the body. No wonder Locke and everyone else missed it.
Going back picture to number one, he viewed them again but none of them showed the U. All the photos were either too close or from the wrong angle.
Determination building like the construction of a new OWG complex, he selected the next file, “Govicide Agent Bob Dunphy.” Hamilton murdered him in Snow City on the northeastern end of the Third Continent. By the footprints in the snow, Hamilton stalked the Agent then attacked him in a park at night. The killer strangled him and stuck a Govicide scanner into the Agent’s rectum. When a passerby spotted Dunphy, the Agent’s pants were around his ankles and he lay on his stomach, the scanner pointing in the air.
Like the first set of pictures, this series started with shots from ten feet away. Locke clicked through several pictures before he found what he was looking for. Once again, the U was non-descript, several feet from the body and the size of a place mat, blending into the snow cover. Hamilton drew this U in the snow like he drew the other one in the dirt.
Locke shook his head, a combination of astonishment, anger, and happiness melting together.
Photo after photo, file after file, murder after murder, he discovered the U in every scene.
The seventh Agent killed, Elizabeth Klebb, had been murdered in Canal City in the northern area of the Second Continent. Hamilton ran her over with her own automobile. In the investigation, Locke determined Hamilton pick-pocketed the keys then ran her down on a sidewalk. In this set of pictures, the U was drawn in Klebb’s blood. To the untrained eye it appeared to be an oddly shaped puddle.
The ninth murder, Govicide Agent Victor Fielek, was poisoned in Sun City on the Fourth Continent while eating pasta, a food Locke still had yet to try. Hamilton constructed the U out of a single strand of spaghetti. It looked like the rest of the strings on Fielek’s plate.
The twelfth murder, Govicide Agent James Dewey, was found strangled in his limousine on the Sixth Continent in Reefville while his driver ran in to pick up his Govicide suits. The bottom of Dewey’s tie was pinned to his shoulder. Locke didn’t know the reason at the time. Now he did. Pinning it there turned the tie into the shape of a U.
File after file. Picture after picture. Frame to frame. Screen to screen. He relived the past two years of his life. He didn’t appear in one picture, but he knew the entire story. He was part of the story but not in it. Just like a detective should be.
He remembered where he was standing during every shot. Just off camera to the left. Just off camera to the right. Right behind the photographer. Ten yards behind talking to a witness. And the whole time he missed this major clue.
If he’d been more alert, he and the Govicide Agents might have noticed the U before more Agents got killed. Before Ames had gotten killed. Before Hamilton’s comrades found out Jade was pregnant.
A little voice spoke from the back of his head. Hamilton can explain it. He’s only a short walk away. Go ask him.
Locke’s rational side ignored the temptation. Hamilton was still off-limits to all of Govicide. He’d already strayed out of bounds once. Even sitting at this computer was a lot closer than the Director wanted.
And Locke remembered another reason he shouldn’t confront Hamilton. Hamilton was unbreakable. He’d talk only if he wanted to, no one could force him.
This was the entire reason the Director allowed Locke to interrogate the murderer in the first place. The Director didn’t want any of his own Agents to fail. Locke’s teeth tapped like hammers as he dwelled on being set up as a decoy.
The light from the monitor illuminated a quarter of the office. His large shadow stretched across the floor, desks, and two chairs. He concentrated on it.
The soft voice of temptation grew louder telling him he could confront Hamilton again, but without the Govicide Director watching. He could face the murderer as a Govicide Agent not a Homicide Detective. And he wouldn’t leave until he got answers.
Locke rose to his feet, eyeing the door leading to the prison. Did he dare? Finally, he strode forward, grabbing the handle before he could change his mind.
Following the same path as a few days ago, he convinced himself he’d stay there all night if needed.
The Guard on duty wasn’t Ned, who worked during the day. Locke didn’t know this male well.
Slouching, the Security Guard straightened when he heard the footsteps. He’d been flipping through an issue of OWG Week. When he saw Locke approaching, clad in black, the Guard fixed his tie and put the magazine under his desk.
“Relax, don’t worry about it,” Locke said as he approached.
“Detective Locke? I heard you--”
“Became an Agent a few days ago?”
The Guard stood, then bowed. “I thought it was a lie. Nobody ever--”
“I told you to relax.” Locke patted the Guard on his shoulder. “I want to see Hamilton.”
The Guard squinted, examining Locke. “Uh, sir. Govicide Agent Locke, no Govicide authorities are mandated to see Hamilton.”
“I arrested him. I think that grants me some special privileges.” Locke strolled to the cell bloc door.
“Govicide Agent Locke, you are putting me in a tough position here.” The Guard’s eyes drifted to the ceiling then down the corridor. Hands on his hips, his chest heaved. There was no better example of how subjects reacted in the face of Govicide pressure. Indecisiveness. Sweating. Stuttering. Second-guessing. All due to the power of the Department and the badge.
“Ned let me in a few days ago.”
“That may be the case but . . . ”
“Here’s what you’re going to do.” Locke stepped over to the Guard. “You’re going to pretend you never saw me.”
“I could get in big trouble.”
“You? How about me?” Locke laughed. Inside, he was frowning, trying to ignore the implications of what he was doing.
“And you are doing this behind the Director’s back?” the Guard asked.
“There’s no time to call the Director and explain. I’ll get in more trouble if I don’t get to talk to Hamilton immediately.”
“Govicide Agent Locke . . .” The Guard’s voice drifted and he backed away from the Agent, looking at the floor between them.
Locke tried a different tactic, one that would work if he were in this Guard’s shoes. “I have a suspicion Goods and Services might be affected if I don’t get to speak to Hamilton.”
The Guard’s eyes met Locke’s. “Goods and Services?” His jaw dropped open.
“Yes. And I don’t mean a year from now. Soon. Maybe even next week.”
“Govicide Agent Locke, why did you not say that in the first place? Of course you can see Hamilton,” the Guard answered. “Is there going to be any screaming involved?”
“No, no screaming,” Locke answered. The Guard’s question was valid, though. Screaming went along with torturing Offenders who threatened to block the delivery of Goods and Services.
The Guard unlocked the door. “Just making sure. I have heard the stories about Govicide. A comrade of mine got in some trouble with Govicide once. Once.”
“There won’t be any screaming. Maybe yelling. But I’m not going to hurt him.”
Locke doubted he could even if he tried.