Total Immersion, page 7
APRIL 19, 2025 - DIS. 4 ARREST - AGGRAVATED SEXUAL ASSAULT/CLASS 1. CRIMINAL TRESPASS - ASSAULT W/A DEADLY WEAPON.
Sam perked up. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”
PLEA – SEXUAL ABUSE/CLASS 4. SERVED FIVE OF TEN-YEAR SENTENCE – MENARD CORRECTIONAL CENTER.
GOOD BEHAVIOR/PRISON REFORM ACT.
RELEASED MAY 01, 2030.
Sam turned to Buzz. “Run the victim’s name and address.”
“Way ahead of you. Here it comes.”
NANCY FARBER
14478 TERRA DRIVE
CHICAGO, IL 60043
“Send it all to me,” Sam ordered, staring up at the screen.
“Why would they plea bargain an aggravated sexual assault charge?” Tommy asked.
“Probably lost the witness and dumped it.”
Buzz spun around in his chair. “The guy was murdered twenty-one days after he walked. I’d bet my life that either Mrs. Nancy Farber’s husband did the deed himself or he hired someone to whack him.”
“Could’ve been her father,” Tommy interjected.
Buzz continued, enjoying his stint as a detective. “It’s someone close to her. Someone who loved her. This is fun!”
Sam glanced back to the screen. “Maybe. Probably not . . . Buzz, let’s look for a similar M.O. with a match on a decap of a Caucasian male in his twenties to late forties, and throw in a special circumstance of no blood found at the scene.”
Buzz typed away as the 3-D images swirled across the screen with thousands of cases, searching for a match. Tommy got dizzy just staring at it.
NO MATCH FOUND.
Sam tilted his head from side to side and said, “Was that just for the state of Illinois?”
“Yeah. I can do a national search.”
Buzz’s fingers worked the keys as the screen lit up with a cyclone of information.
ONE POSSIBLE MATCH.
Sam nodded. “I feel like we’re on a game show. Let it fly, Buzzer.”
CASE #112567 - JANUARY 2, 2030.
“Right in our ballpark,” Sam said.
Tommy picked out bits and pieces from the dense file that flashed on the screen:
DIS. 13 - GARY, INDIANA
VICTIM - BERNARD MEYERS/AGE - THIRTY-EIGHT.
AT 1400 HOURS/RESPONDED TO 10-55 DISPATCH CALL
VICTIM'S BODY DISCOVERED IN KITCHEN OF RESIDENCE.
SEVERED LEFT ARM. SEVERED RIGHT LEG.
DECAPITATED AT THE NECKLINE.
Sam’s sixth sense kicked in like a shot of pure vodka.
UNDER DIRECTION OF DET. HUGH LONG - 112456.
“Long!?” Buzz said incredulously. “That dickhead is still a detective?”
“Who’s Hugh Long?” Tommy asked.
Sam answered with a sigh, “We attended the Academy together. He made detective eight years after me. Total screwup. Gannon let him go, and Indiana picked him up.”
Sam glanced back to the screen.
SP. CIRC. -- NO BLOOD FOUND AT THE SCENE.
SEVERED APPENDAGES CUT CLEAN/NO CURRENT SUSPECTS.
“Run the autopsy photos,” Sam instructed.
“I was hoping you’d ask,” Buzz said, pleased with the ghoulish request.
Within seconds, a series of gory close-ups featuring the chopped-up remains of Bernard Meyers filled the screen. On a shot of Bernard Meyers’ severed head, Sam held up his hand. “Hold that puppy right there.”
The photo froze.
“Give me a one-hundred-percent zoom concentrating on the neckline.” The image enlarged, maintaining perfect quality. Sam took a few steps closer to the translucent 3-D screen. “Those are burn marks,” Sam said. “Run the autopsy report from page one and scroll slow.”
The photo slid over and the report, in oversized letters, appeared.
On page five, paragraph three, Sam called out, “ Hold it there.”
THIRD DEGREE BURNS LOCATED AROUND CIRCUMFERENCE OF
THE NECK AND UPPER SHOULDER.
“Extreme heat can instantly cauterize a wound, stopping the blood flow,” Sam said quietly to himself, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. “Bring up Kevin Fields’ photo, enlarge one hundred percent, and place it side by side with Meyers.”
The reports slid off the screen, and Kevin’s picture shot back up. Buzz positioned the two gruesome photos next to each other. Tommy watched closely as the lacerations were positioned side by side; they looked like a perfect match.
“Unbelievable,” Tommy whispered.
“Damn, I’m good,” Sam said. “How much you wanna bet that Bernard Meyers served time on a rape charge?”
Tommy shook his head in disbelief. “Unreal, Sam.”
“We’re a million miles from a court date, but at least we got a little more to play with.” Sam turned to Buzz. “Let’s run Meyers’ bio, please.”
“Comin’ up, big guy,” Buzz said.
He instructed the computer on its next command, and the photos disappeared. A mountain of information followed, and Tommy picked up the following:
BERNARD MEYERS #112489
JANUARY 14, 2010 - G.I. - DIS. 2 ARREST - RECKLESS ENDANGERMENT IN THE FIRST DEGREE. CASE DISMISSED - INSUFFICIENT EVID.
MARCH 17, 2015 - G.I. - DIS. 4 ARREST - FELONIOUS ASSAULT
SERVED 6 1/2 MON. INDIANA STATE PRISON
SEPTEMBER 01, 2018 - G.I. DIS. 4 ARREST - FORCEABLE ORAL COPULATION OF A MINOR
SERVED 3 YRS. I.S.P.
JUNE 28, 2023 - G.I. DIS. 4 ARREST - AGGRAVATED SEXUAL HARASSMENT
SERVED 2 YRS. I.S.P.
DECEMBER 26, 2028 - DIS. 2 ARREST - CRIMINAL MISCHIEF
SERVED 6 MON. BRANCHVILLE CORRECTIONAL
AUGUST 09, 2029 - G.I. DIS. 2 ARREST - 1ST DEGREE SEXUAL ASSAULT/SEXUAL BATTERY/SEXUAL PENETRATION BY FORCE
MISTRIAL/JUROR MISCON.
RETRIED 01-05-2030
JURY DEADLOCK 10-1
CASE DISMISSED 03-08-30
Sam knew he had much more on his hands than a random murder.
Tommy chirped in first. “Think it’s serial, Sam?”
“Maybe, or murderers are getting neurotic about neatness.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Buzz said. He pulled open a drawer and retrieved a shiny, silver Total Immersion disc. “You’re gonna cream over this one.”
Sam’s eyes lit up as Buzz handed him the disc. Tommy heard rumors Sam was a Total Immersion junkie, and he now knew who provided the goods. Sam’s bloody confrontations with Hans in all the training programs now made sense.
Maybe he was one of the men responsible for Jenny Knight’s murder, Tommy thought, but he didn’t want to ask the question.
Tommy stared at the shiny disc. “Guess digital downloads are out of the question?”
Buzz laughed. “So naïve, young Thomas. These files are massive. Only way to get them into the in-home systems is through heat-assisted magnetic recording discs with holographic storage. Eliminates any glitches.”
“How do you program those so quickly?”
“To be honest, seventy-five percent is the AI doing the heavy lifting. Google is desperate to push this tech into the mainstream, which lets a certified T.I. programmer, like moi, tap into their system and use the most incredible AI hardware I’ve ever worked with. This shit is sick. I mean, like, frightening. A geek’s wet dream, and it keeps getting better by the second. Once it knows the main characters and settings, you feed it the storyline you want it to follow, and it creates millions of intricate plot points, dialogue options, scene variations, and on and on and on.”
Buzz turned his attention back to Sam. “It’s my best work. I’ve outdone myself on this one, but be careful, ’cause this baby could give you a goddamn heart attack . . . You need anything else from me? Because I now have to go home and shower since you two were in here so long slogging off all those nasty germs. I can feel them everywhere.”
“Is that really why you have to go home?” Sam asked, questioning Buzz’s excuse.
“Well, I might play with myself while I’m in there. Little release. Why waste the suds. ”
“That’s what I figured . . . Send me everything you got on both Fields and Meyers.”
“Consider it done,” Buzz said, and returned to the keyboard.
[][][]
Sam’s mind raced as they left the Buzzard’s Nest. A vigilante serial killer was rare, but he knew of several isolated cases. His first thoughts centered on Nancy Farber.
Why were the charges lowered?
What had Fields done to her?
Did she know Fields?
Had she worked with him?
Was it date rape?
Did Nancy Farber know Bernard Meyers?
Sam was familiar with the overwhelming nature of a new case. He’d learned to take each day as it came. Gather some leads. Follow the trail. Don’t jump to conclusions.
“So, what’s next, Sam?” Tommy asked.
They stopped in front of Sam’s office door. “I’ll pound through all the files, compile an initial set of notes, and build up a preliminary game plan for the next couple of days.”
The AI identified Sam and unlocked the door, which swung open.
“Meet me tomorrow morning at my house at seven. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
“Seven, got it,” Tommy repeated, and disappeared down the hallway.
[][][]
Sam sat down at his desk, and his computer screen lit up.
NINA, Sam’s digital assistant, popped up with a friendly smile. He instructed her to retrieve the files on Kevin Fields, and in seconds, they scrolled across the 6K screen. He asked the same for Bernard Meyers, and those filled the screen just as quickly. There were over twenty file boxes, and inside each box were mounds of information.
It was going to be a long night.
eleven
“Fuck you,” Hans Becker sputtered. His bloodshot eyes were hidden behind folds of bruised flesh. Blood poured from thin cuts across his gaunt face, which had been inflicted with a barber’s straight razor. His two front teeth had been knocked out. As he opened his mouth to speak, a bloodied fist slammed into his nose, knocking his head back against a mud-encrusted rock.
Sam sat on top of Hans’ chest in the middle of a breathtaking lily field. Screaming with rage, Sam lifted his bloody fist high above his head and slammed it back into Hans’ mangled face, knocking him unconscious.
Sam winced and held his battered hand.
Finished with Hans, he glanced over to a stunning cherry tree in full bloom. Hans’ partner in crime, Dopey, a half-Irish, half-Guatemalan gangbanger, dangled from a rope that was wrapped around one of the thick limbs. His upper chest proudly displayed an evil leprechaun tattoo clutching a bloody Celtic cross. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, his face badly pockmarked. He had been stripped nude, and his dangling body was used for target practice. Five bullet holes riddled his pitiful corpse. His left foot and right hand had been completely blown off, and only a small section of his right ear remained intact. A waterfall of blood flowed down his skin, dyeing the colorful array of flowers beneath him a deep scarlet.
The hunt for his wife’s murderers had been grotesquely brutal this time.
I would definitely take this ride again, Sam thought.
He stood, pulled a Colt .45 from his shoulder holster, and stared down at Hans. “She was pregnant, you fucking piece of shit. She was nine months pregnant.”
The bullet struck Hans right between the eyes. His upper body jerked violently as his skull exploded.
Sam turned the gun on Dopey and unloaded the remaining rounds. The last bullet cut the rope, and Dopey’s body dropped like a sack of potatoes, landing with a splash in his own pool of blood.
Buzz had mentioned this was his best work, even though it bordered on the surreal. Sam preferred as much reality as possible, but the breathtaking landscapes of this program were stunning. He figured Buzz must have scanned in the works of Monet, among others, to create such a vibrant world.
Sam took in a deep breath as that temporary sense of digital justice calmed his tortured soul. A flock of birds flew overhead, and as his face lit up in a satisfied grin, his world went black.
[][][]
Sam sat peacefully beneath the Total Immersion gear as the sounds of reality crept in. The wrist and ankle cuffs snapped open, allowing him to reach up and remove the helmet. His home system was identical to the training theater’s; it was, after all, on loan from the department. He had cleared out the second room, his daughter’s bedroom, and turned the room into a mini Total Immersion center. The only item that indicated it was meant to be baby’s room was a large stuffed bear that sat alone in the corner, never to be touched by the hands of a child.
A pair of shorts and a t-shirt clung to Sam’s damp body. His face glistened with droplets of sweat. He swung his legs over the side of the high-tech chair and sat on the edge.
The programs performed like any powerful, mind-altering drug, and carried with them all the same devastating, thrilling effects. But like all drugs, the Total Immersion high only lasted so long. Sam closed his eyes tight and ran his hands along his slick face and up through his hair.
He glanced at a framed picture of a very pregnant Jenny that hung against the south wall. He felt himself start to choke up as little bursts of air filled his lungs. He promised himself he would stop the daily crying routine that had paralyzed him for eight long years. He promised himself he would move on. He turned away from the picture and stared at the Total Immersion helmet. He thought about going back in. One more round before the day began. Just as he reached out for the helmet, the doorbell rang.
[][][]
“Holy shit,” Tommy muttered as Sam answered the door, looking like he stepped out of a sauna. “You okay, Sam?”
“Great . . . Wonderful. C’mon in,” Sam said, swinging the front door open. The spacious duplex was located just outside downtown Chicago in a fashionable neighborhood made up of young, upper-middleclass families. Jenny and Sam had purchased their dream home with the financial help of her father once Jenny became pregnant. They’d moved in on Jenny’s thirty-sixth birthday.
Tommy politely brushed the soles of his shoes off on the welcome mat and entered the house, holding a large pink box.
“You’re early,” Sam said, disappearing down the hallway, leaving Tommy standing in the living room.
“I brought donuts,” Tommy said, glancing around the well-decorated space.
Sam called out from a back bedroom, “So cliché! There’s some orange juice in the fridge. Help yourself.”
Tommy had been surprised when he first pulled up to the well-kept, handsome exterior. He pictured Sam living in some filthy bachelor pad that reeked of dirty clothes and Chinese take-out.
The duplex was built in the 1940s and showcased hardwood floors, arched doorways, and ceiling moldings all in tiptop shape.
A woman’s touch decorated this house, Tommy thought as he made his way into the dining room. The furniture was a mix of antiques and art deco. A chandelier hung majestically over a glass table with wrought-iron legs that could easily seat ten. An antique mahogany-and-glass cabinet were set off to the right, filled to the brim with a collection of dining plates, cups, and silverware.
Tommy heard the shower come on as he entered the kitchen. Every cooking gadget known to man filled the bright area—a gourmet’s dream. Tommy saw a stainless-steel stove, convection oven, bread warmer, a subzero digital-interface refrigerator, a separate ice maker, trash compactor, and an indoor barbecue complete with its own brick chimney. A center island, fitted with a sink, broke up the large space. Tommy pulled open the fridge and expected to find it filled with food. Instead, it was empty, except for a small carton of orange juice. He didn’t want to take what little was left, so he closed the door. He glanced at the Gaggenau oven and peeked inside. It was spotlessly clean. Barely used. The whole kitchen seemed just that: barely used.
Tommy left the kitchen and made his way back to the living room. Throughout the house were framed photos of Sam and Jenny.
Tommy took a seat on the sofa where he was met by two cats, who excitedly leaped up to greet him. One was small and skinny with black-and-brown spots. The other was at least twice as big and almost completely white, except for a black ring around the neck.
He set the box of donuts on the coffee table, which was decorated with an array of antique lighters. In the center was an ornate cigar box. He leaned over and opened the lid.
Inside was a pile of newspaper clippings. The top article’s headline read: DECORATED HOMICIDE DETECTIVE’S PREGNANT WIFE FOUND MURDERED IN ALLEY.
Intrigued, Tommy cautiously grabbed a second clipping. A color photo of Jenny was accompanied by the headline: TWO SUSPECTS QUESTIONED IN BRUTAL SLAYING OF JENNY KNIGHT.
Tommy set the clippings back in the box, grabbed a chocolate donut, and waited patiently.
Fifteen minutes later, Sam entered the room dressed in a slick, black suit, carrying his trench coat.
“I see you’ve met Laurel and Hardy,” Sam said.
“Which one is Hardy?” Tommy asked as the cats purred around his legs.
“The fat one,” Sam said. “The fat one is Hardy. Don’t you know Laurel and Hardy?”
Tommy shrugged. “Before my time, I guess.”
“How ephemeral it all is.”
Tommy walked over to the fireplace where two photographs in aged silver frames sat on the mantel. The one on the right showed a young couple standing in what looked like a park. Between them, a small boy was smiling.
“That your folks?” Tommy asked.
“Yep,” Sam said, a bit curtly. “That’s them.”
“I read about the fire,” Tommy said softly.
“We have a long day ahead of us.”
Tommy abruptly turned and made his way toward the front door.
