The Authorities, page 12
Terri said to let Rutherford come up. The guard asked Terri if she was certain and launched into a more detailed description of Rutherford. After he hung up the phone, he very reluctantly allowed Rutherford to board the elevator.
Moments later, Rutherford stepped out into the office. His eyes scanned the room, and his heart sank. It was his first full day on the job and he wanted to make a good impression. He’d been told to report to work at nine. It was eight forty-five, so he was early, but everyone else was already there. When everyone’s early the least early person is late, no matter what the clock says.
Albert was the first one to notice that Rutherford had arrived. He was in his office workshop, tinkering away with the door open. He called out, “Hey, Rutherford, good morning!”
Out in the communal area, Max and Sloan were looking at words scrawled on a whiteboard. Professor Sherwood was reading something on a laptop screen. All three of their heads swiveled and locked onto Rutherford’s location. Two of them smiled. The door to Terri’s office swung open. Her head and shoulders poked out at an altitude and angle that suggested she had rolled to the door in her office chair. A round of good mornings were heaved at Rutherford like oddly cheerful rocks.
Rutherford knew from years of bitter experience that whenever a group of people was this happy to see him, something was terribly wrong. He narrowed his eyes at Albert and asked, “What?”
Albert said, “Calm down. It’s good news. I’ve got some new toys for you. It’s my favorite part of the job.”
Smiling in a disarming manner, Albert walked over and handed Rutherford a credit-card-sized piece of metal with his full name stamped into it like a giant dog tag.
“This is your ID badge. You just carry it in your wallet. The guard station downstairs has a scanner that reads it. It’s encoded with your name, all of your biometrics, and several photos. It’ll also help us identify you if something happens that makes dental records useless.”
“What would do that?” Rutherford asked.
“Nothing you want to think about this early in the morning. The second thing I have for you is this.” Albert held up an irregular beige lump that looked like a piece of chewed gum. Rutherford instantly realized it was his new earpiece. Molded from hard plastic, it had a smooth, organic cone on one end, and the other end was flat and perforated with tiny holes.
Rutherford looked at it and asked, “Right ear?”
“That’s the one I scanned,” Albert said.
“How do I turn it on?”
“It’s always on. It only has two settings: on and out of power. I’ll give you a wireless charging pad that’ll keep a charge on both your earpiece and your phone.”
Rutherford inserted the earpiece. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t quite comfortable either. He doubted he’d ever forget he was wearing it.
Albert asked to see Rutherford’s phone. He tapped the screen a few times and Rutherford’s earpiece emitted a beep. Then Albert turned the phone around so that Rutherford could see the screen. There were icons representing every member of the team. With his finger, Albert traced a circle around his own icon and Max’s. Albert tapped on his left hip pocket, and across the room Max looked at his phone and said, “Yes?” He said it at normal conversational volume, from at least forty feet away, but Rutherford heard him loud and clear. This wasn’t particularly impressive. Everyone knew how an earpiece worked, but the sound quality was much better than he’d expected.
Albert, also in a normal, conversational tone, said, “Just showing Rutherford how the earpiece works. Sorry to bother you.”
Max said, “Not at all.”
Albert slashed through his and Max’s icons, and the call ended.
“You can open a conversation with one, several, or all of us at any time. The people you call are notified by a tone. If you hear the tone, you can answer it discreetly by tapping on your phone, even if it’s in your pocket. If you’re in a position to look at your phone, it’ll tell you who’s calling, and who else is listening.”
Albert circled all of the icons with his finger. Rutherford watched as the icons grew slightly larger one by one, signifying that everyone had accepted the call.
“Hey, everyone,” Albert said. “I just wanted to let you all know that Rutherford’s now available on the party line.”
Every head in the office turned to look at Rutherford and Albert. Terri, Max, and Professor Sherwood said things that sounded welcoming, but were rendered unintelligible because they were all spoken at the same time. He could hear them distantly through his free ear and clearly through the earpiece.
Rutherford thought, I have everyone’s attention. I wanted a dramatic moment to tell Sloan and Max that I’ve got them figured out. I probably won’t do much better than this.
Rutherford said, “Thanks, everyone.” He turned to Albert and said, “It sounds great. Loud and clear. Will I also get a silent throat mike, like the one Sloan uses to feed Max questions?”
Max laughed out loud. Sloan tucked her cane under her arm and clapped slowly. Rutherford heard an unfamiliar voice in his earpiece. The voice was female, upbeat, and artificial. It was the kind of voice a smartphone uses to tell you to turn left onto the I-5 on-ramp. It said, “Well done. We were hoping you’d figure it out for yourself.”
Albert said, “Rutherford, meet Megan Sloan. Sloan, meet Rutherford.”
“You are a little off on the details,” Sloan’s disembodied voice said. “It’s not a microphone. It’s a set of sensors built into my helmet and my collar that sense the movements of my mouth and trachea. Then it figures out what I’m saying. Albert can explain it to you if you like. He’s explained it to me like a hundred times. Also, I don’t just use it to talk to Max. I talk to everyone on the team, except you, yesterday.”
Rutherford considered asking why this was necessary, but quickly decided against it. Instead he ran through the events of the previous day in his mind. He remembered all the times Max had paused while questioning a witness. Now that he really thought about it, there were other moments that had struck him as odd.
“There were a few times yesterday when everyone seemed to think something was funny, but I couldn’t figure out what,” Rutherford said.
Sloan nodded. “They were laughing at things I had said . . . about you.”
“I’m sure they weren’t all about me,” Rutherford said.
Sloan shook her head. “You are mistaken.” She held up her gloved right hand and extended the index finger. “When you were introduced to me, I nodded because you couldn’t hear me. You said it was good to meet me, then you stood there and fidgeted. I asked everyone if I should nod again.”
She extended a second finger. “When we were told that the victim had been bludgeoned by an unidentified murder weapon, I suggested that we have you look at it because you might recognize it as another obscure sex toy.”
She held up a third finger. “When we were discussing what to call you, someone suggested shortening your first name, Sinclair, to Sin. I suggested calling you Clair.”
Rutherford said, “That’s . . .” then trailed off, fishing for the right word. Finally he settled on, “Comprehensive.”
“Memory is a detective’s most important tool,” Sloan’s artificial voice said cheerfully. “For what it’s worth, I also agreed with you that the hammer’s handle had been deliberately wiped down.”
“Yes,” Sherwood said. “It’s a shame it’s not the murder weapon.”
Sloan ignored him. “Why don’t you come over here? We’re going over the evidence. Maybe you’ll see something we don’t.”
“Not yet,” Albert said. “There’s still one more toy to show him, and I saved the best for last.”
Sloan struck her helmet with her palm. “Of course, you’re right. How could I forget?”
Max said, “Yes, this will be the highlight of the day!” By the time he had finished saying it, the entire team, Terri included, was standing around Rutherford and Albert.
Rutherford looked at the others warily. “What? What is it?”
“A surprise,” Terri said.
“Oh,” Rutherford said. “And you’ve all been waiting to check it out until I got here?”
Terri answered, “No, we’ve seen it.”
“Then why are you all so excited?”
Sloan’s voice said, “Because now we get to see you see it.”
Albert put a hand on Rutherford’s shoulder and started to guide him away from the elevator. Rutherford marveled at how much had happened already, when he’d only taken two steps into the office.
Albert said, “I’ve shown you the basics of using the party line. There’s a PDF with the more advanced stuff on the network. For now, let’s dispense with the appetizer and move on to the main course.”
As they walked, Terri said, “Rutherford, I don’t think we need to keep the party line open, since we’re all standing right here.”
Rutherford started to swipe his hand across the cluster of icons on his smartphone screen, but stopped and asked, “Will this cut off my ability to hear Sloan? If she’s going to make fun of me some more, I’d just as soon hear it.”
Sloan’s voice cut in. “I’m constantly broadcasting to everyone in my presence unless I specifically choose to cut someone out. So rest assured, if I make a joke at your expense, you’ll know. Unless I don’t want you to.”
Rutherford muttered, “Great,” as he killed the party-line connection. He looked up from his phone and realized where Albert was leading him—the garage. Once they reached the frosted glass door, Albert opened it and motioned Rutherford through, saying, “Your chariot awaits.”
Rutherford stepped into the garage, blinked in disbelief, then said, “Please tell me it’s behind that hideous van.”
The van was old, but not quite old enough to be called “vintage.” The suspension had been raised in the rear and lowered in the front. It looked like a maniac had been given an impact wrench and told to “have at it.” The items bolted to the van included a large spoiler on the roof, a chin spoiler, side steps, a tall chrome exhaust stack capped with a hinged flapper, and flared arches on the rear wheel wells (but not the front). Four massive chrome rims held what were ironically referred to as “low profile” tires.
The windows were tinted, including the one set into the sliding side door and the custom window shaped like a bullet that had been installed in the rear quarter panel.
The paint was mostly matte black, but as Rutherford walked toward it, he saw that there were highly detailed pinstripe filigrees painted in gloss black that were only visible when the light hit them. There were several small hatches built into the side of the van. They looked as if they were designed to swing open, but they had no exterior handles or keyholes.
Albert said, “One 1992 GMC Vandura, heavily customized. Aside from the obvious aesthetic modifications, it has also been outfitted with Mr. Capp’s Stephenson Motors steam-electric drive, so it has crazy acceleration for such a heavy vehicle. It runs on nothing but electricity and will occasionally need to be topped off with water.” He pulled the sliding side door open. Inside, the floor and walls were covered in maroon shag carpeting that almost matched the color of the leather captain’s chairs. “It has all of the amenities of a modern passenger vehicle, all of the equipment of a police cruiser, and a few other customizations I helped develop specifically to meet our team’s needs. The technicians finished it two months ago. Since then it’s been in storage. We’ve added a toy or two while it was on hold, but really, it’s just been waiting for the right person to fill the driver’s seat.”
Sloan’s synthetic voice said, “Don’t you feel honored?”
Rutherford blinked at Albert, then turned to Terri and said, “So, wait a second, this means that you had all this leather-jacket, bad-boy crap planned way before you even knew I existed.”
“Mr. Capp and his marketing team did,” Terri said. “I knew what they had in mind, but I wasn’t part of the decision-making process.”
“So, I’m just some guy they got to wear the costume?”
Terri shook her head. “No, Rutherford. If that were the case, we could have just hired an actor. You were recruited because Mr. Capp saw potential in you, and felt you could provide certain skills the team needed. You’re not just some guy they got to wear the costume.”
“You’re the specialist who they hand-picked to wear the costume,” Sloan added.
Rutherford ignored Sloan, remaining focused on Terri. “You expect me to drive this?”
“No, we’re allowing you to drive it. It’s your company car,” Terri said. “You should feel lucky. You and I are the only ones who get them. They took back the second sedan when they dropped your van off.”
“Well, let someone else have it. I don’t need it.”
“It’s a cool van. It’s designed to fit your image.”
“I already have a Miata! It’s cool. It fits my image.”
Terri said, “I take issue with every part of that sentence, but the point I really need to correct you on is that you don’t actually own your Miata. When you signed your contract, you agreed to sell it to Mr. Capp for market value plus ten percent.”
“Why does he want my Miata?!”
“He doesn’t,” Terri said. “He just doesn’t want you to be seen in it. You’re lucky you’re renting an apartment. If you’d owned a place, especially if it was a nice place, it would have been in the same deal.”
“He wants to dictate where I live?”
“No, Rutherford, he wanted to dictate where you live. You signed his contract, and now he has his wish. Don’t worry, he’s not going to move you until your new place is good and ready. And when you do move, you’ll live there rent-free, which in Seattle is a pretty good deal.”
“Where?” Rutherford asked.
Terri said, “Seattle, like I said. Where else?”
“No, Terri. Where specifically will I be expected to live?”
“Well, that’s up in the air. His brand consultants are still working on it, but they’ve narrowed it down to two options. A dilapidated houseboat on Lake Union, or an old Airstream trailer parked illegally on a beach on Puget Sound.”
“Illegally?”
“Well, not really. One of Mr. Capp’s companies would own the land, but it would look like you were squatting to any outside observers. Look, I can see that you’re not happy, but I remind you that none of us got you into this. We’re just the people you’re going to be working with while you’re in it.”
Rutherford squeezed his eyes shut and silently counted to ten. When he finally opened them, he said, “You’re right, of course. It’s just, I didn’t really know what I was signing on for, and this . . .” He looked down at his clothing and motioned toward the van. “I don’t see how any of this could suit me less.”
Sloan said, “You haven’t seen the back of the van yet.”
Terri glared at Sloan. Sloan shrugged. Max smiled in spite of himself.
Rutherford silently walked around to the back of the van.
The spare tire was mounted on the back, and on the tire’s vinyl cover there was a painting of Lady Justice. She wore a pair of menacing black sunglasses instead of a blindfold. In one hand she was wielding a sword that would have been far too heavy for a person to hold one-handed, even without the added weight of the blood and gore clinging to its blade. In her other hand she had scales, which were tipped way out of balance. The lighter side of the scale held a chunk of stone with the word “mercy” carved into its side. The heavy side held a similar stone bearing the word “vengeance.”
The painting expressed a sentiment that he could relate to now more easily than he could have two days earlier.
TWELVE
Once everyone had been sufficiently entertained by looking at Rutherford looking at the van, they returned to the conference table and whiteboard in the office’s communal room to discuss the case.
Terri sat at one end of the table, glancing at her tablet as she listed the known facts about the case. The others looked at their own tablets as they listened.
“Dr. Daniel Arledge was murdered in his own office by means of blunt force trauma sometime around 9:00 p.m. There’s no security camera footage, no sign of forced entry, and no sign of a struggle. He was discovered by the practice’s receptionist almost thirteen hours later, just before ten in the morning. The receptionist and his wife both have alibis.”
“Yes,” Sloan said. “His widow pointed out her alibi without being asked.”
“I noticed that too,” Rutherford said. “It seemed a little too easy.”
Terri said, “Be that as it may, the police have looked into it and her alibi checks out.”
“That only means she didn’t kill him herself,” Max said. “She might have sent someone else to do it.”
Sloan said, “Max, anybody might have sent someone else to do it. You might have sent someone else to do it.”
He laughed. “Don’t be silly, Meg. We all know that if I chose to kill someone, I’d do it myself.”
Sloan said, “I suppose so.”
“And it would look like an accident.”
“True.”
“And nobody’d ever suspect it was me.”
“Probably not.”
“And even if someone did have suspicions, talking about it to another living soul would be the worst mistake of their lives.”
“Yes,” Sloan said. “We all know that, now.”
Terri cleared her throat and continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “The victim’s business partner was home alone and has no alibi, but also has no motive. Since he joined the practice, Dr. Shaw has received a greatly reduced salary in exchange for increasing ownership, which would have transferred to him in full upon the victim’s retirement. The victim’s death puts that in jeopardy. All of the victim’s financials are in order, as are those of the practice. There was no obvious murder weapon at the scene, but while searching an alley near the crime scene we found a ball-peen hammer which Professor Sherwood insists is not the murder weapon.”
