White Noise, Part 9 of 10
z119z
Copyright the author 2015
Comments are appreciated. Please send them to z119z2000@yahoo.com. Thanks.
Chapter 17
"Kenneth, can you talk now?" He had barely unlocked the door to his office when the secure line began ringing. Kenneth Foster wondered, not for the first time, if his offices were under surveillance. The director always seemed to know when he could call.
"Yes, Director, I'm alone in my office."
"Your nephew's latest report was waiting for me when I arrived this morning. It appears that the version of the drug he has is getting closer to achieving the results we want. I've arranged for a copy of the report to be hand-delivered to you. I don't want to trust it to email. The details are . . . rather grisly. I will spare you a recital of them. If you are interested in what your nephew did, he provides a full inventory of what he calls his experimental protocol' and research results.' Essentially your cousin murdered both young men slowly and painfully. Yet neither resisted. The video we have of the second murder confirms this. I won't send a copy of that. It's gruesome. Your nephew claims that both boys enjoyed dying. I suspect he's projecting, and it's more a matter of his enjoying killing them."
"Scott doesn't even have the latest version of the drug. We have tweaked it since he received the batch he's using now. Preliminary results show it to be even stronger and to work more quickly but not destroy the subjects' minds at all in small doses. We are testing it now on volunteers from the military prison at Fort Miller to see what the minimum dosage for conversion is. We're getting closer to the point of having the subjects under control when we need them to be under control yet able to function independently when we don't. We approaching the point that I've achieved with the units through hypnosis and brainwashing."
"That's good news. I look forward to reading the reports on the tests."
"I'll have them to you next week. What did Scott have to say about dosages?"
"According to your nephew's report, the first test subject had received all the recommended dosages specified in your instructions. The second subject, however, had ingested the drug only three times. The first time was over four months before the second. As I understand its effects, that initial dosage would have worn off within a day or so. The second and third doses were administered about a half-hour apart and about two hours before your nephew began his tests. The effects were the same as the full regimen of doses. This has quite interesting implications, don't you agree? The military uses alone are quite promising. Troops could be sent into battle after receiving only a small amount of the drug."
"The drug promises to be so cheap that, once we enter full production, we will be able to convert the military fully. They would be ready for combat at any time. I think the civilian uses will be even more spectacular."
"My colleagues in the military branches will be interested to learn of these results."
"Is it necessary that we inform them, Director? Perhaps the upper echelons of the military should receive the drug first, the better to lead their subordinates. As we have seen, some people develop qualms about using the drug."
"You are becoming more ambitious in your plans, Kenneth."
"Yes, Director. I will tell you of them soon. Now, what do you have to report about the surveillance of my nephew and the police investigation of the murders?"
"We have your nephew under constant surveillance. When he is in his apartment or the warehouse or the clinic, we have full camera coverage of him. We follow him whenever he is moving. The offices of the homicide squad are fully bugged. We can hear everything that is said there. We are using directional mikes to pick up conversations elsewhere in the building, although there our coverage is not complete. We have placed tracking devices and bugs on the cars of all the principal investigators, and we will shortly have enough manpower to shadow this Lieutenant Dell'uomo and his two chief assistants, Trent and Samuels. We have all the paperwork ready to take over the case on the grounds of national security. If necessary, we could shut down the investigation within about five minutes, Kenneth. An animal research facility with attached living quarters has been prepared for your nephew. It is well guarded, and he can be held incommunicado while he continues his experiments. No one will know where he is. He will be quite comfortable, and we will be able to supervise his experiments. We will also be able to ensure him an adequate supply of subjects. He really cannot be allowed to continue to choose his own test subjects on a whim. It is endangering the secrecy of the project."
"Excellent, Director. Really excellent. I am quite happy with your work. You may give yourself 15 minutes of pleasure now and an hour this evening, Director."
"Oh, thank you, Kenneth. Thank you. That is most generous." The director was already moaning with pleasure as he hung up.
Kenneth Foster leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands in front of his face. He was quite satisfied with the course of events. For a moment he thought about rewarding himself for all his hard work. A day off after the Scott problem was resolved—he could leave things in Jeff's capable hands for at least a day. Things were coming together so nicely. Scott was being contained and would soon be rendered harmless—well, harmless to the project. Foster had no doubt his nephew would continue to harm others. But his love of violence would be channeled along useful paths. If he failed to cooperate, then his supply of the antidote to the drug could be withdrawn, and he could be converted. His family would be quite relieved to see Scott behave. Good behavior would be unprecedented for Scott. No one would miss the old Scott.
All those years ago when Ivy had asked him if he could do something about Scott, he wouldn't have imagined he would still be taking care of Scott twenty-five years later. It had been amusing to teach Scott how to indulge his "peccadilloes" without attracting attention. That may have not been what Ivy wanted—his cousin probably envisioned that he would turn Scott into a copy of his older brother. But that would have been such a waste of Scott's talents. Even as a child, Scott had a flair for cruelty. He could be quite imaginative. All he needed was focus.
Once he had introduced Scott to the pleasures of control, the lad had learned to enjoy using his newfound power to camouflage his actions behind a façade of proper behavior and to entice his acolytes into doing his bidding. Talbert had been a godsend. So willing to be led, so unable to resist temptation, so open to the influence of a stronger mind.
When he began researching the use of drugs to control others and render them obedient, he had been only too happy to repay the senator for his help in introducing him to the director and in securing the funding and facilities to pursue his research by hiring Scott to test the effects of the various versions of the drugs. As far as the senator was concerned, his finding something for Scott to do had been even more reason to fund his project. Ivy was very pleased that Scott had a job and was contributing to furthering the Foster blueprint for the future.
Scott was the perfect person to test the drugs. He had no inhibitions or moral qualms. Others might have demurred about the test protocols, but Scott relished pushing the limits on what the drugs could make a subject do. Unfortunately the same qualities that made him perfect for this research also made him a danger to the program. He would have to be more strictly supervised—for the safety of the project and its long-term goals. The senator would agree, he was sure. Once Ivy understood the threat an unsupervised Scott posed, he would see that no other action was possible. Thankfully the senator had long since abandoned any parental illusions about his younger son. Ivy knew that Scott was a psychopath.
"It appears, then, that Kenneth Foster has been lying to us."
Thursday morning found the principal investigators in the David Spier case back in Captain Jillson's office, along with ADA Jessica Morgan.
"Yes, Captain," said Dell'uomo. "The fact that he lied about his connections with Senator Foster and his family makes all the information he supplied us suspect." The lieutenant felt oddly relieved to be telling the others about Kenneth Foster. He didn't know why he had been so reluctant to implicate Foster. When he woke up that morning, however, it was as if his eyes had been opened to Foster's perfidy. Perhaps it was a side-effect of waking up beside Jeff and Michael. That had been wonderful. But he couldn't think about that now. If he thought about Jeff and Michael, he would become aroused again. God, he hadn't known sex could be like that. Whatever the reason, his mind had felt totally clear for the first time in his life. And he knew what he had to do. He pinched the webbing between his right forefinger and thumb with the same fingers on his left hand. He needed to focus on the meeting and deal with Kenneth Foster. "We can't trust anything Foster told us. Not even the claim that that white noise machine was sold in San Diego."
"But what is he up to, Matt?" asked Jessica Morgan. "Do you suspect Kenneth Foster of being implicated in David Spier's murder?"
"Perhaps not in the sense of participating in the actual killing. But definitely somewhere in the background."
Jillson cleared his throat and began issuing orders. "We need to talk with Kenneth Foster again, Matt."
"Captain, I don't feel that I am the right person to do it. I was totally taken in by him in all our discussions. He's very persuasive. He needs a fresh look. I think it would be better if Samuels and Trent spoke with him. I am building up a . . . rapport with Jeff Ange and Michael Sorenson. I think I would be better employed talking with them, especially Sorenson. I get the feeling that he is ready to unburden himself about something that is bothering him. And, Captain, I think it's time to talk with Scott Foster."
"Jessica, what do you think?"
"Well, he's definitely weird. But that's no reason to suspect him of murder, especially this murder. Give us something more to go on, Matt, and I'll be the first to question him. But at this point, all we have to link him to the Spier case is a drawing produced under hypnosis, some gossip from Talbert, and Sorenson's testimony that years ago he was beaten while Foster watched. As I pointed out the other day, none of this is evidence or relevant to this particular case. It gives us reason to suspect Foster, but our suspicions aren't proof. As for Sandman Enterprises, clearly something is going on there. But is it illegal? Again, we have no proof. Things we don't understand aren't evidence. At most, they're cause for further investigation. It is not illegal to receive a government contract. It is not illegal to sell white noise machines. It is not illegal to hypnotize people. I would suggest that Trent and Samuels talk with Kenneth Foster and confront him with the fact that he has been lying about his connections with Senator Foster. Matt should talk with Sorenson and his boyfriend again to see if he can find out more. I'd like to interview the Albertson kid myself and see if he can supply anything that would be admissible evidence. But are we ready to confront Scott Foster with what we have? Wouldn't any contact set off alarm bells in him?"
"What if he is the killer, Jessica? Do we risk having him kill someone else?"
"Don't lay a guilt trip on me, Matt. I'm well aware of the possible consequences. Why don't we put him under surveillance? Trail him when he goes out at night and find where he goes?"
"Can we get an authorization for the manpower to have him trailed, Sir?" said Susan Trent. "By all reports, he seldom leaves the River Towers before night. We probably could get by with just one man during the day, and two at night. Robert has been working with the security guards at the River Towers, and they appear willing to cooperate with us. They know when the elevator to the penthouse is used. We could arrange for them to phone our watchers when Foster leaves his unit. We already know that he takes cabs. We could try to get one of our guys in position to pick him up. Or we could watch who does pick him up, get the license number, and then find out from the cabbie where he dropped him off."
"If it will help us find out where he spends his nights, I'm all for it."
"There's one other thing that interests me in all of this."
"What's that, Jessica?"
"There are four Sandman enterprises. One deals with the commercial end—the shop, the online business, the wholesale business. Another is for these seminars that Foster gives. The third invests the money the businesses earn. But the fourth is an employment agency. The first three are related. Those I can understand. But what has an employment agency got to do with the other businesses? According to the prospectus filed with the Business License Office, it is set up to `supply highly trained personal assistants.' What has that got to do with hypnosis and self-help seminars? Did this business have an office at Canal Street, Matt?"
"The directory in the lobby listed only Sandman Enterprises. Foster must run all four businesses out of that office of his. Just because a business has registered with the state doesn't mean it's prosperous or even active. Nor does a business have to put a sign on the door when it occupies the premises. The building is almost empty. I didn't get the impression that this is a bustling, prosperous operation, Jessica. It looks like a small business in a run-down building. More hope than performance."
"A small operation with a decent sized government contract, which may or may not be a black operation for some spy agency. That may be the reason for the run-down building. It attracts less attention than a glitzy office downtown would. Foster has to be doing something for that contract to be renewed for three years running. In terms of the total federal budget, it may not be a lot of money. But even the government doesn't throw money like that about. I'm just saying it's curious, Matt. Something else to look into. Even if Sandman has no connection with the Spier murder, something is going on there that we need to investigate. Perhaps not homicide, but the fraud guys."
"Ok, people, I think we've gone about as far as we can with what we have." The captain drew the meeting to a close. "Susan and Robert, you interview Kenneth Foster. One of you arrange for the Albertson kid to come in and have an interview with Jessica, and, Matt, you talk with Sorenson and Ange again. Let's find out where Scott Foster goes at night—I'll arrange for surveillance outside the River Towers and for one of guys to impersonate a cabbie. Maybe we'll get lucky. The guy could be a big tipper, and the night squad can order pizza. If Foster gets in another cab, we'll find out where he goes. Any positive evidence, and we'll move on Scott Foster."
"Yes, Director?"
"Kenneth, we picked up a conversation at police headquarters between an unidentified male and someone we believe to be Sergeant Susan Trent. They were making plans to visit a `Foster' this afternoon. The male had to make an appearance in court at 11:00 to testify in a case. We are checking the court rosters now to see if we can identify him. We know the male is not Dell'uomo because he was talking on the phone at the time. So you may receive another visit from the police this afternoon. Or they may be about to visit your nephew in the River Towers. It was not clear from the conversation which Foster they were talking about. We will give you as much warning as we can of their arrival. But what should we do if they are visiting your nephew? He's hardly sane at this point, and he could easily reveal everything. He thinks what he is doing is perfectly normal and reasonable. A sympathetic interviewer could get him talking, and he would never stop. You know how he is when he gets on one of his hobby horses."
"Don't worry, Director. I have prepared my nephew to deal with the police. His behavior will give them no grounds for suspicion, and he will reveal nothing. I will call him and trigger his defenses, just to be sure. It's a pity that Dell'uomo is not the male officer who is coming to interview me. I could handle him easily. I have met Sergeant Trent. I have no doubt that I will be able to deal with her and her colleague's questions, Director. Let me know as soon as you can when they leave and where they are headed."
"Scott? This is your Uncle Kenneth. How is my favorite nephew?"
"Uncle Kenneth, I've been hoping you would call."
"I've just received your latest report. This is excellent work, Scott"
"I thought you would like it, Uncle Kenneth. The drug worked perfectly."
"No resistance at all?"
"None, Uncle. They were willing participants. And the pets had no reaction to the scene. It did get rather . . . messy, but they just helped me carry on the testing procedures. The implications of this are so promising, Uncle. I have been making plans for further tests. I'd like to share them with you and get your feedback."
"We must meet soon, Scott. Now there is one thing I need to talk with you about. You remember our discussions about how you should act and what you should say if the police ever question you?"
"Oh, yes, Uncle Kenneth. I would not forget those."
"Good, Scott. Now listen carefully. If the police question you, you are to activate your self-protection program. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Uncle Kenneth."
"Good. Now what are you going to do if the police question you?"
"Activate my self-protection program."
"Excellent, Scott. I am so proud of you. You are doing such good work, and your experiments are very important to my researches."
"Oh, it's my pleasure, Uncle. I enjoy this work so much. It's so rewarding and fulfilling. I can't wait to tell you about my latest project. I think you'll really like it."
"He's not there, Matt." Susan Trent stood in the doorway of Dell'uomo's office with a look of alarm on her face.
"Who?"
"The Albertson kid. He hasn't been seen for days. The last time anyone recalls seeing him was on Monday evening. He had a pizza party in his room at the City University dorm. We spoke to several of his neighbors in the dorm. As near as everyone can remember, the party broke up about 10 o'clock. They're rather fuzzy about the details. It seems everyone was tired from the weekend and fell asleep soon after the party ended. No one has seen Albertson since then. We checked with his teachers—he hasn't been to any of his classes either."
"Did anyone check his room?"
"I called the dorm manager and had him take a look. The room was cleaned on Tuesday. The manager said it looks like a typical student's room. So cluttered it would be hard to tell if anything is missing or how long it's been since Albertson was there."
"Find out his family's phone number and see if they have heard from him. He can't just have disappeared into thin air. And get a team over to check his dorm room. We need to find out where he's gone."
Dell'uomo had a premonition that they weren't going to find Albertson, at least alive. "Oh, and Susan, get in touch with the local precinct that includes Garfield Park and ask them to watch the park tonight. And call that man who's head of the neighborhood watch and ask him to double their patrols of the park. I don't believe in coincidences. Albertson's disappearance is related to the Spier murder." Dell'uomo looked out his window in dismay. He wished he could generate some optimism about Albertson's fate. The day had started so well. Now it was disintegrating into the usual nightmares. They were never very far away in his job.
"Is this the right address, Susan?" Samuels bent forward and gazed at the building through the windshield. He had finished testifying in court before noon. Susan and he had grabbed some lunch and were now about to interview Kenneth Foster.
"Yes, 1010 Canal Street. Hardly looks like the headquarters of thriving corporation, does it? At least it's easy to find parking in this area. There's a place right across the street."
"Susan, what other offices did Matt say were in the building?"
"I don't recall all of them. Just small businesses, mostly. Didn't he say the upper floors were empty? Why?"
"Those two guys that just came out of the building."
"The pair in the identical outfits?"
"Yes, they look like twins."
"Yes. So?"
"They're very young looking. I just wondered what sort of business they would have here."
"It looks like they're off to the gym. The way they're dressed and the gym bags and all."
"They just seem out of place here. Maybe these are the two of the `highly trained personal assistants' Jessica was wondering about."
"Don't you think they are rather young to be personal assistants?"
"That would depend on the type of assistance they are being trained to render."
"Oh. . . . Right. Gotcha."
"Let's see if we can find out where they are headed. I wonder if there is a patrol in the area."
"We can only hope." Susan Trent triggered the switch on the police radio. "Dispatch? This is Sergeant Susan Trent, Homicide, Badge no. 5460. I'm outside 1010 Canal Street. Do we have a patrol in this area?"
"One moment, Sergeant Trent. I'm calling the information up on my screen right now. We have one foot patrolman on Meridian. His last report was from three blocks east of Canal Street. There is a patrol car, on Tenth, about five blocks from you."
"We have two males, late teens, early twenties. They appear to be identical twins. Both wearing red athletic-style warm-up pants, dark blue wind cheaters, baseball caps, dark glasses, white tennis shoes, white socks. Now walking south on Canal Street toward Tenth. If possible, please have them followed and see where they go. No intercept. I just want to know where they go."
"Understood, Sergeant Trent."
"I'll be out of radio and phone contact for the next hour or so. Have the patrolman phone the report to homicide and leave a message for me."
From a third-floor window, Kenneth Foster watched the unmarked police car pull up and park opposite the entrance to 1010 Canal Street. Luckily he had had enough warning to send the twins away and prepare his second office. The officers seemed to be taking their time getting out of the car. Probably discussing tactics. He opened a drawer and stuck a small aerosol spray in his pocket. It would be better not to use the drug on the police at this point, but just in case all else failed, it was a backup. Best to be prepared for all contingencies. Would they try the good-cop, bad-cop routine? Television and the movies had made that so familiar it would hardly work anymore. It should be an interesting interview. He was quite looking forward to it. Ah, they were getting out of the car now. He must prepare the welcoming scene for them.
"Sergeant Trent, please come in. Pardon the mess. I'm working on some budgets."
"This is my colleague, Robert Samuels. We're sorry to intrude, but we had a few more follow-up questions."
"Officer Samuels, pleased to meet you. Well, that may be inappropriate under the circumstances. I hope there hasn't been another murder."
"No, nothing like that, Mr. Foster. We just are tying up a few loose ends."
"Of course, officers. I would be glad to help in any way I can. Oh, let me just clean off that chair. In my case, work tends to expand the space available to it. Let me get another chair. Oh, thank you, Officer Samuels. Sorry, it's a bit crowded in this office. It isn't really meant for meetings."
"Where do you hold meetings?"
"My business isn't of the nature that many meetings are necessary. We do our order processing in the backroom of the store—that's the one you visited earlier, Sergeant Trent. The orders are sent online to our warehouse, which is across the river. The goods are shipped from there. The warehouse serves many small companies such as mine. We don't ever have to visit them. It's simply a matter of communicating with them by email or by phone occasionally. Our accounting is done by a man who works out of a spare bedroom in his apartment. Computers have made it so much easier to decentralize operations. This is really just a small operation. Myself and three full-time employees and then several free-lancers under contract."
"You outsource a lot of your operations, then?"
"Yes, Officer Samuels. We really couldn't survive if we had to support a large staff."
"But your business must be prospering. You live in Westhaven, I believe."
"You have done your homework."
"Surely you have seen enough television shows about police work to realize that we check into the background of everyone involved in a case, no matter how peripheral to the investigation they are."
"So life imitates fiction."
"Very often, Mr. Foster."
Foster smiled thinly. He shuffled the papers on his desk to show that he was a busy man. "And what can I help you with today, Officers?"
"We are trying to track down this white noise machine that was found in the murdered boy's room. You told Lieutenant Dell'uomo and Sergeant Trent earlier that the series was discontinued in June 1997."
"Yes, that is correct. We would have sold the last of them before we began selling the new model. I don't have my records handy, but the last of them would have been sold within two or three months."
"And the unit in question was sold to this Inner Journeys shop in San Diego in 1997?"
"Yes, that is what my records show."
"I spoke with the proprietor of that shop earlier today, Mr. Foster. He did not open for business until February 1999."
"If you spoke with him, then you realize that he is often confused about things. I suspect that he uses drugs frequently and heavily. He is often irrational."
"He seemed quite rational. And he has remained in business for several years now. That takes some skill. We also checked his memory against the California State Business Licensing Bureau's records. It seems he is correct. The business began in 1999."
"I really have no explanation for the discrepancy, Officer Samuels. I will check my records again. Perhaps I was too hasty the first time."
"There is one other matter, Mr. Foster."
"What is that, Sergeant Trent?"
"You told Lieutenant Dell'uomo that you have had very little contact with Senator Foster's branch of your family."
" `Little' is a relative term, Officer."
"That it is, but both you and the senator attended Chesterfield at the same time. We understand that you were quite close. You were almost a foster parent to his son Scott for several years. Foster Enterprises lent you a substantial sum of money. You have a sizable government contract. There is a suggestion that Senator Foster may have played a role in the awarding of that contract to you. `Little' would seem an inadequate characterization of the relationship, don't you agree?"
"And may I ask what the police interest in these matters is?"
"As I said, we are tying down loose ends. This is a murder investigation. A young man was brutally murdered. A witness described a man for a police artist, and several people, including yourself, identified the drawing as a picture of your relative Scott Foster. You have stated to Lieutenant Dell'uomo that there has been almost no contact between yourself and the senator's family. Yet we have found evidence of substantial contact. It is a loose end. We do not like loose ends. Nor do we like it when we find evidence that someone has been less than truthful to us. We begin to wonder why."
"Are you accusing me of lying to Lieutenant Dell'uomo, Sergeant?"
"Would you say that all your statements to the police have been truthful, Mr. Foster?"
"I do not see that my personal affairs are any concern of the police."
"Oh, but they are. We are becoming very interested."
"Perhaps I should call my lawyer."
"That is up to you, Mr. Foster. I'm sure your lawyer will advise you that truthfulness is the best policy in answering our questions."
"Most lawyers advise silence, Sergeant."
"That is true."
"In any case, I will not answer further questions before seeking advice of counsel, Officers."
"That is your right, Mr. Foster. We will call you later to arrange a more extensive interview at police headquarters."
"At headquarters?"
"Yes, that is our right, Mr. Foster. As a good citizen, you are obliged to assist the police in their inquiries. . . . What the hell?" Susan Trent jumped up when the spray hit her face. Unfortunately she blocked Robert Samuels's attempt to grab Foster. Kenneth Foster took advantage of the confusion to direct the spray into Samuels's face as well.
Samuels's momentum carried him across the desk toward Kenneth Foster. He received a full dose of the drug in his open mouth. The two officers struggled against the effects of the drug for a few seconds. Foster stepped back and watched them flail about until their movements ceased.
"Good. Stand up both of you. Now here's what happened today. You interviewed me. I had nothing to contribute to your investigation. You are satisfied that there is no need to interview me further. You will have no other memory of what happened here. You interviewed me. I had nothing to contribute to your investigation. You are satisfied that there is no need to interview me further. You will now leave and continue with the rest of the day."
Susan Trent and Robert Samuels obediently left and drove away.
Chapter 18
Around the same time that Trent and Samuels's meeting with Foster began, Matt Dell'uomo was greeting Michael Sorenson with a kiss. It astonished him how natural the greeting felt, and how good Michael's body felt against him. He allowed himself to enjoy the embrace for a few seconds before pulling back. "Michael, I need to talk with you—officially." He still had a job to do, and there would be hell to pay if his colleagues found out that he had become sexually involved with a witness in a case. Two witnesses in fact. And it was more than just a physical involvement. There was an emotional link as well, one that he hoped would continue, and an emotional entanglement would count even more against him than a physical encounter. Lust, the department could countenance; love between an officer and a witness was grounds for an investigation.
The living room of Michael and Jeff's apartment looked the same as it had on the previous times he had been there, but Matt couldn't forget what had happened there. The room had a history now that included him and a future that would include him. Michael's welcome had assured him of that. So it didn't feel like the same room. It was a different room. It was more comfortable, more familiar. And he was part of it now. There were atoms floating in the air that he had breathed out. Atoms that Michael and Jeff had breathed out were now part of him. Flecks of his skin and hairs from his head and body probably littered every surface.
It was like the CSI mantra. Every person who enters a room leaves something behind and takes something away. The crime scene officers would find plenty of evidence of his presence and would be able to conjecture with a high degree of certitude what he had done in the apartment. A forensic investigator would quickly find DNA confirmation of his presence, and his lights would fluoresce that special blue-white sheen that signified the discharge of cum. He could almost hear the court testimony. "Tests showed that the traces of ejaculate found on all three cushions of the sofa and the bed and the rugs in the living room and bedroom were human. DNA screening proved that it belonged to Lieutenant Matteo Dell'uomo, Michael Sorenson, and Jeff Ange."
"Please clarify. Traces of sperm belonging to all three men were found on all the areas mentioned?"
"That is correct."
"As an expert witness," the DA would ask, "what does the presence of ejaculate belonging to Lieutenant Dell'uomo mean?"
"It implies that Lieutenant Dell'uomo discharged ejaculate either in the presence of Sorenson or Ange or both or while alone. It is impossible to tell if all three men's sperm was deposited at the same time."
Well, he would gladly testify to the presence of Michael and Jeff and a long romp throughout the apartment. Perhaps not in the kitchen, but he couldn't swear to that. His memories of portions of the previous evening were hazy. But what the CSIs would not find were traces of his emotions and feelings. He wasn't ready to share those with anyone but Michael and Jeff. When Michael had embraced him at the door, his mind and then his body had responded. He wanted to continue kissing Michael. He wanted to tear his clothes off and offer himself to Michael, but he forced himself to pull back. He had a job to do, but he would do it gently. He pulled Michael over to the sofa and made him sit down. He took a seat opposite Michael in an easy chair on the other side of the coffee table. He sat erect in the chair with a certain stiffness of posture. "Michael, I need to talk with you."
"Of course, Matt. Any time."
"Michael, I need to talk with you as a policeman."
"Yes, Matt, it's about time I was straight with you."
"Well, you don't have to be straight." The two men shared a complicit grin. "Just tell me what you know about Kenneth Foster's business."
"Can I hold your hand? It will be easier for me if I can touch you."
"Michael, last night . . . last night was wonderful. I hope it happens again. I really hope it happens again. But, caro, a boy was badly abused and then murdered. It's my case, and I have to find the guy who did it and stop him from doing it again. A second boy has disappeared, and we're afraid that the same man was responsible. We suspect Scott Foster to be that man. And everything we have found out so far points to your boss being involved in this as well. He's not the murderer, but he and the murderer are cooperating in something, and that something has spilled over into murder. Now, last night, you said that Jeff was involved with some evil people. I promised you that I would protect Jeff. And I will if I can, but you've got to help me, Michael."
"Foster takes submissive people who are susceptible to hypnosis and turns them into slaves and then sells them."
"Sells them?"
"Yes, Kenneth uses hypnosis to condition them to be obedient, subservient slaves, and then he sells them to people. Well, technically he leases them. That's what Sandman Personal Assistants does. It manages the units. That's what they're called. `Units.' I was one. In some ways, I still am one. Philip Talbert leased me from Kenneth Foster. Right now, Kenneth is training a pair of identical twins. They're almost ready to be sold. He's also working on another project—one that is earning him a lot of money. But I don't know what it is. I just handle the money that comes through."
"We know about the money. It funds some sort of government project."
"Yes, the checks come from the government."
"What role do you and Jeff play in all of this?"
"Jeff's a unit. Kenneth has been training him for years. Jeff doesn't think he's a unit, but he is. He does everything that Kenneth tells him to. But Kenneth isn't interested in Jeff sexually, and after I ended up in the hospital, Kenneth made Jeff fall in love with me. I'm supposed to keep Jeff satisfied. Kenneth can still control me when he wants. But he's forgotten about us. He thinks Jeff and I are so obedient that we don't need to be reconditioned. I have begun to escape from him, and I'm trying to help Jeff."
"Tell me everything you know about this."
And so Michael told Matt everything he knew.
"This is unbelievable."
"Matt, you've got to believe me. Kenneth is . . . ."
"I think he hypnotized me. I visited him at his office on Canal Street, and he showed me some machine. The next thing I know he's ordering me to jump out an open window. I woke up from the trance, or whatever it was, at that point. He said he was trying to demonstrate to me that no one could be forced to do something under hypnosis."
"Matt, you're very susceptible. In fact, you're the type Kenneth looks for. That CD you bought, it's been training you to respond positively to Jeff's voice so that you can be trained further."
Matt did not speak again for a minute. "So all this has been a sham. Everything that I've been feeling for Jeff, everything that you have told me before, all of it was a lie." Another lie. First Foster and now Michael and Jeff. None of them could be trusted. Sandman was . . .
"No, you're not far enough along in your training for that to happen. It's been real. Last night was for real."
"I don't know whether to believe you or not, Michael. Jeff and Kenneth have been manipulating me. Why not you as well?"
"Red dragon."
"What?"
"Red dragon."
Matt looked dazed for a second, and then his head slumped forward and his shoulders and arms relaxed.
Michael stepped behind his chair and placed his hands on Matt's shoulders to prevent him from falling out of the chair. I'm one of the good guys, thought Michael. I'm doing this for a good reason. I won't hurt Matt. Just use him a bit.
He hoped he wasn't being complicit in Sandman's evil. Well, he was, but he was trying to stop it. Surely that counted for something. And he wouldn't hypnotize Matt again. It was just something that had to be done now. A temporary expedient.
"Listen to me, Matt. Relax deeply and completely. Just take a deep breath in. Hold it for a second. Now let it our slowly. And as you do, you feel a deep wave of pleasure spread through your body. You feel so comfortable, so relaxed, so open. You feel so good when you listen to my voice. Just listen to my voice and sink deeper and deeper into sleep."
Gradually Michael took Matt into his control, associating the strong feelings of pleasure Matt was feeling with obedience to his commands. "Matt, Kenneth Foster and Sandman are behind Scott Foster and the murders. You will investigate them further until you find the evidence needed to convict them. I will help you. Jeff and I are innocent of any wrongdoing. We are being used by Kenneth Foster. You love Jeff. You will protect Jeff. You will see that no harm comes to Jeff."
Matt floated in world of warmth and comfort and security. Michael was with him. He was safe, He wanted to stay there with Michael, but Michael was telling him that he had a job to do. He had to wake up and do his job.
"So this white noise machine belonged to you?"
"Yes, they are programmed with a subliminal message. The unit listens to it while sleeping and is further conditioned to obedience and submission to the patron. Scott Foster took it away. He must have given it to the murdered boy for some reason."
"The unit. The patron. Why don't you call them what they are? They are victims and criminals. We have to put a stop to Foster. How can he use people like that?"
"It's horrible, Matt. I can't tell you what it was like to be a unit. I was conditioned to the point where I couldn't do anything but obey Talbert, even when he was hurting me."
Matt felt anger rise inside himself. He had to put a stop to this obscenity. He leaped up and looked at his watch. "How did it get to be so late? Where is Jeff now? I have to take the two of you downtown so that you can make statements. We can have Foster arrested tonight."
"Foster has paperwork that makes it look innocent. On paper, the units are employees of Sandman Personal Assistants and work under contract to the owners. We collect a monthly fee to pay their wages, their social security, health benefits, pension plans. It all looks innocent on the surface. Every unit you talk to will claim that he or she is only an employee of Sandman. And I'm not sure that Jeff will testify against Foster. He's been under his control for years."
"I need to talk with Jeff. When will he be home?"
"He's usually back by 6:30 or so. Some nights he's later."
"What do you have on that computer of yours? Can you get a list of all these units and who owns them?"
"I have the employment records. Foster keeps the main records at Canal Street. But I can find the names and addresses."
"Where are these twins?"
"Also at Canal Street. The units are trained on the top floor of the Canal Street Building. They stay in an apartment owned by Kenneth Foster."
"Michael, it's going to be all right. I'm going to help you and Jeff fight this and get you free." Matt put his arm around Michael's shoulder and hugged him. "Now, let's have a look at your computer and see what we can find."
*****.
"Captain Jillson, this is the James Barnes, from the U.S. Attorney's Office. And this is Special Agent Sean Campbell. Gentlemen, this is Calvin Jillson." Chief of Police Bryson gestured for everyone to sit down.
"Captain," said Barnes, "I believe you are investigating the murder of a David Spier."
"That is correct. We have identified a likely suspect and are gathering information on him."
"Who is heading the investigation?"
"It's under the direction of Lieutenant Matt Dell'uomo. He's being assisted by Sergeant Susan Trent and Detective Robert Samuels. Jessica Morgan is the supervising counsel from the District Attorney's Office."
"Are they the only ones involved in the investigation?"
"They are the primary investigators. Various officers have been sent to gather background information, interview neighbors and friends of the dead boy, that sort of thing. Davis Marks from the Business Fraud Division has also provided invaluable information."
"On what? What has a murdered student have to do with business fraud?"
"We have been pursuing leads that led us to a company that appears to be implicated in the murder. Chief, what is this all about? What does a murdered student have to do with the federal attorney's office?"
"Captain Jillson," James Barnes interrupted, "the federal government has an interest in David Spier's murder. I have been instructed to inform you that it is a matter of national security and the investigation will be taken over by Special Agent Campbell and his office."
"And what office is that?"
"I am not at liberty to say, Captain Jillson. We have a writ from the Federal District Court ordering you to hand over all records relating to the case to Special Agent Campbell and his men. You are to instruct your officers to cease their investigation of the case."
"Chief, I must protest against this."
"Cal, I have received several calls on this from the highest levels. This is a matter of national security. Special Agent Campbell is simply doing his job. I expect you and your men to cooperate with him and turn over all your records. Our investigation is to end immediately."
"Matt, where are you?"
"Susan, what's up? I'm with Michael Sorenson. I've uncovered some incredible evidence against Sandman."
"We've been called off."
"Called off what?"
"The Feds are in our offices now, taking all our records on the Spier case, Sandman Enterprises, everything. Captain Jillson has ordered us to cooperate with them and stop the investigation."
"Where are you now?"
"I'm in the women's bathroom. All of the federal agents are male. It was the one place I figured they couldn't follow me."
"Susan, you wouldn't believe what Sandman's been doing. We can put Kenneth Foster away for years."
"Matt, the government is claiming it's a matter of national security. They are threatening to arrest us if we don't drop the investigation."
"We can't drop it, Susan. We have to figure out a way to stop these guys."
"Matt, I can't talk any longer. They'll get suspicious. These guys mean business, Matt. We'll have to be careful. I'll talk with you later."
When Susan Trent put her cell phone back into the pocket of her suit coat, she felt a piece of paper she had tucked into her pocket earlier. On it was jotted a phone message that had arrived for her earlier. "Patrolman Black reports that twins were trailed to Midtown Health Club." She remembered seeing the twins and radioing a request for surveillance, but she could not remember why. Well, as her mother always said, if you can't remember something, it can't have been important. She almost tossed the piece of paper into a waste basket, but then thought better of it. Perhaps if she and Robert paid a visit to this health club, it would come back to her.
"Delivery for Jeff Angie." The bike messenger arrived at the shop just as Jeff and Cindy were closing up for the day. He carried a large, padded manila envelope and a handheld digital reader. The messenger pointed the reader at a barcode on the envelope. It beeped.
"I'll take care of it, Cindy," said Jeff. "If you've closed out the till, you can go home now. I'll lock up."
"Sign here." The messenger handed Jeff a stylus and pointed at a blank line in the window of the reader.
"Thanks, Jeff," called Cindy from the back. "I'll just get my coat and purse."
"Just a second. Let me give you something for your trouble." Jeff pulled out his wallet and offered the messenger a dollar.
The messenger shook his head. "It's been taken care of. Enjoy, Mr. Angie."
"Thanks." "And it's Ange," Jeff said under his breath. Out of habit, he glanced up and down the bike messenger's body. Not his type. Way too skinny. The guy must do drugs. It didn't look as if he had eaten for a month. His scalp was shaved smooth under the bike helmet he wore, which was not to Jeff's taste at all. Plus his skin was so pale—odd for a bike messenger who spent his days outside delivering packages.
Jeff put the manila envelope on the counter while he locked the door behind Cindy and the delivery man and then carried it into the backroom. It was only after he had double-checked Cindy's totals and put the money into the wall safe and the credit card receipts into the bag for Michael that he turned to the package again. It was marked "Urgent. Open Immediately" in what appeared to be Kenneth Foster's handwriting. That was a first in his experience. He couldn't recall getting a delivery from Kenneth before. He tore open the flap and pulled out a plastic baggy. It appeared to contain only a sheet of paper. This is weird, he thought. What was with a blank sheet of paper? He opened the bag and pulled out the sheet. It was wet, like one of those moist towelettes that restaurants that serve messy food give you. And there was an odd, peppery smell. He felt dizzy. He tried to focus on what was happening to him, but it was so hard. He was so tired. He wanted to lie down and sleep.
He was barely aware of answering the phone when it rang a few seconds later. "Jeff, have you opened the envelope?"
"Yes. It is open."
"Wipe your face with the towel. Hold it over your nose and breathe in deeply."
Jeff did as he had been told without hesitation.
"Now unlock the front door."
Jeff dropped the towel on the table and walked through the dark shop to the front door and unlocked it. With his last conscious thoughts, he recognized the bike messenger and the man in Mike Albertson's drawing. A third person dressed in a black body suit slipped into the room behind the other two. The man gestured for the messenger to relock the door and led Jeff into the back room and sat him down. He held the towel over Jeff's face. "Breathe in deeply. Good. Now again. Very good. And once more." The man glanced at his watch. Better to give the drug a minute or two to circulate in Jeff's system. He checked the backdoor to make sure it was locked. He lifted the shade on the window and checked the back alley. "Bring the van around back here," he said to the messenger. "And get changed. I don't like those clothes." He let the manimal who had played the role of the messenger out the front door and locked it again. None of the people hurrying by paid them the slightest attention. No one was watching.
He returned to the backroom. Jeff's eyes were vacant. "No one's home at Jeffie's place." He chuckled to himself. Really, he expected more of Uncle Kenneth. Uncle dearest needed advice on choosing a personal assistant. Jeff was positively fleshy. Not at all sleek. His arms strained the sleeves of his shirt. He had to work out to be that well developed. And there was that tuft of hair showing at his throat. It was disgusting. And yet Uncle Kenneth trusted this Jeff with his business. Not his real business, of course. That he gave to his favorite nephew. But Uncle Kenneth let this guy train these units and service them, as well as run this shop. True, it was a pretty crummy shop, but Uncle Kenneth had never even asked Scott if he wanted to help out. He would have made a much better assistant than Jeff. He had seen how Jeff treated the units. Jeff was too kind to them, too tolerant of their wishes. He would have put a stop to that. After all, he had been the one who had shown Philip how to discipline Michael. And that silly white noise machine that Jeff had given Michael to keep him trained. That had been totally useless. He had tried it on David, and it hadn't done anything but put him to sleep. No, the new way was much better. Once he and Uncle Kenneth had the product ready, it would be only a matter of time before . . .
The van pulled up into the alley behind the store. Scott turned off the lights and waited until he heard the door of the van close. He opened the back door of the shop a crack and watched while his manimal stood in the alley and stripped off his clothes. Now that was a proper body. Thin, white, hairless, sleek, smooth, pale. The black suit flowed on effortlessly. Nothing caught at it. It was if a shadow were flowing over his manimal's body. It was so beautiful now. The body suit was so much better than those ugly jeans and t-shirt. He briefly thought ahead to the pleasures that awaited him later. But first, business. He had work to do.
He turned back toward Jeff. Really it was much better to keep the lights off. That way, he didn't have to look at Jeff and his ugly body. It was also so nice the way the manimals disappeared into the background. He should have brought his black suit too. Poor Jeffie wouldn't have been able to see anyone in the dark. Well, poor little Jeffie wasn't seeing too much anyway. It was time to begin. He made a mental note. Jeff had received a dose of one drop. So clever of him to have put the towel into an envelope with Uncle Kenneth's writing on it. Of course, Jeff had only breathed the drug in. Perhaps some of it had been ingested through the skin when he had held the cloth over Jeff's mouth. So the total would be even less. Say maybe three-quarters of a drop maximum concentration. Enough to make Jeff compliant without making him so helpless that he attracted attention as abnormal. He might appear tired and somewhat listless to an outsider, but not enough to cause alarm. Most of one dose was enough to give him control over Jeff's mind and body, however. Of course, it wasn't really Jeff's body anymore. "I am taking you away," he crooned. "I am taking your body away from you, Jeffie. Stripping your mind of all control. Your body no longer obeys you. It obeys me. Does Jeffie want to lie down in a hammock? Does Jeffie want to lie in the warm sun at the beach?" Oh, this was too luscious. Uncle Kenneth would be amazed to see which of his star pupils had proved the victor. The Jeffie stud under his control at last. But poor Jeff wouldn't be a stud much longer.
Should he make Jeff kneel and kiss his shoes? A bit theatrical and silly, but a nice way to begin, he thought. Scott Foster pulled a wooden desk chair into the center of the room and sat down, his legs stretched out in front of him. The manimal had put a nice shine on his shoes. The tips gleamed in the few rays of light penetrating the room. It was quite entrancing to look at them and slowly move them back and forth. Uncle Kenneth had shown him the fascination of moving lights so long ago. So relaxing. So entrancing. Just the flickering beam of light in front of him. "Jeffie, prostrate yourself on the floor at my feet and lick the tips of my shoes." He was gratified to see how quickly Jeff obeyed. "Oh, such a good obedient boy. You would like to be my toy, wouldn't you, Jeffie. But you can't. I won't allow it. You're too ugly. All you are good for is licking my shoes and a little game of asobi later. You don't know what that is, but you will find out. Although it's a pity that you won't be able to comprehend all that is happening to you. One of the shortcomings of this wonderful drug. But, then, I will be able to comprehend it. And that will be enough for me."
He hadn't planned this at all well. The scene deserved candlelight, flickering over Jeff's tongue as it lovingly licked his shoes. The little pink tongue tirelessly licking his shoes. Perhaps he should take it as a trophy later. He should have worn boots, dirty, filthy boots for Jeff to lick clean. The aristocrat home from a long hard gallop along muddy roads. And he should have one of mother's heavy crystal brandy snifters beside him on the table. He wouldn't drink any of the foul liquid, but it would help set the scene. The nobleman accepting the fealty of a serf. Ah, once again he had been in too much of a hurry. He had to learn patience. But back to work, play later.
"Now, Jeffery Jeffers Jeffie, some questions before I start to play."
"Hi, it's just me. I'm running late. I thought I would pick up a pizza on the way back. Is the usual OK? . . . Oh, OK, I'd better get two then. What does he like? . . . Anchovies? . . . No, I don't mind anchovies. . . . Well, it's about time I gave them a try, then. You're always complaining that I'm not an adventurous eater. . . . I'll be there in about 45 minutes." Jeff shut off his phone when he finished the call and set it down on the table as instructed.
"Very good, Jeff. You sounded quite normal. Is someone there besides Michael?"
"Matt—Lieutenant Dell'uomo."
"Even better. I will get all three conspirators at once. Uncle Kenneth will be surprised that you have been consorting with the police, Jeff. He will be most disappointed. But he will be happy that I've rounded up the three of you so efficiently and put a stop to you. I'm afraid you've been a very bad boy, Jeff, and you need to be punished, don't you? All three of you need to be punished, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Good. Phone this pizza place and order the pizzas. We'll pick them up on the way."