The Archangel Drones (17 page)

But the girl child had more important things on her mind. “You’ve got to go help my mom,” she whispered. “Please… please go help my mom. He shot her,” she said, pointing at the body lying on the ground. “She was bleeding on the kitchen floor. Please, Mister…. You gotta help her.”

“Do you know this man? Who is he?” one of the cops asked, pointing toward the deceased.

“My mom married him, but he’s not my dad,” the girl croaked with a defiant tone. “They were arguing in the kitchen when he started hitting her. She was screaming, and then there was a loud bang. He’s a very bad man.”

Jim still had the driver’s license, handing it over to another officer so he could call it in. Police cars would be on their way to the listed address seconds later.

“How did you know, Marwick?” the captain asked a short time later, watching as the EMTs checked the kids out.

“Like I’ve been trying to tell you, Captain, aggressive police work pays off. It was a righteous stop, but the dead guy just made all the wrong moves.
He
escalated the confrontation, sir. I just responded.”

The senior officer nodded, having heard the same story a thousand times. Most felony arrests began as seemingly innocent traffic stops. Still with Big Jim’s reputation, he had to be sure.

“Let’s start again, Jim. From the beginning.”

“We need to distract him,” Gabe announced to his questioning wife. “We have to find something ‘fun’ the boy can enjoy. His entire life has just vanished into thin air… basketball… friends… school… even getting to drive a car. It’s all been pulled out from underneath him. Just gone. Whoosh.”

Sandy wasn’t quite so sure. “He’s still completing his schoolwork. He has graduation on the horizon, and there are all those social media thingies, like Facegram, and Tuber, or whatever they’re called. And then there’s Manny, of course.”

“Yes, but think about that for a moment. It’s all a pittance compared to what his life used to be, and none of it is much fun. It’s as if he is watching his friends get on with their lives while he is trapped here until all this drama is resolved. Even then, he will have to make a new path for himself.”

Knowing her husband and his unconditional love for Jacob, Sandy reluctantly agreed. “Go ahead. But I’m wondering if this plaything isn’t as much for you as it is for him. A very expensive toy… I might add.”

Pumping his fist, Gabe picked up the package and rushed for the stairs, eager to show Jacob his purchase. Taking the steps two at a time, the eager father announced himself before arriving at his son’s threshold. “Jacob, you’re not going to believe what I found at the hobby store! And on sale, too,” he added for Sandy’s benefit.

He found his son sitting up in bed, reaching for the ever-present crutches. “What’s up, Dad?”

It was the first time since the incident that Gabe had seen a true flicker of light behind his son’s eyes. “A drone! You bought a quad copter. Dad! How cool.”

Setting the box at the end of the bed, he moved to help Jacob maneuver so that he could examine the new purchase. His son’s obvious joy reminded the troubled father of Christmas mornings from long ago.

Jacob eagerly opened the packaging, pulling out the bright red flying machine. The frame was shaped like an “X” with four plastic propellers, one located at the end of each branch. The electronic brain was located in the center of the frame, including the camera lenses, flexible antenna, and a bracket that held the battery pack.

The drone weighed only a few pounds, its wingspan slightly wider than Jacob’s lap. The teen was obviously enamored as he examined the device, flipping, turning, and inspecting every feature.

“Wow! It has a camera, point-of-view navigation, GPS…. It has everything, Dad! Where did you find it?”

“I went by Frank’s Hobby Shop, and he’d just received this baby. He was having a special to introduce a new supplier, so I picked it up for $399.”

Sandy appeared, leaning against the doorframe and observing the men of the Chase household.
Men? Right now, they’re two boys,
she mused.

“Is this thing like that remote control airplane we bought a few years ago for your birthday, Jacob? I seem to remember long faces of disappointment after a few hours of trying to learn how to fly it, and then crashing it into the street,” she asked innocently.

“Oh, no, Mom,” Jacob exuberantly replied. “This model is equipped with an autopilot, gyro stabilization, and an app that allows you to control it from your smartphone.” By now, the teen was grinning at the anticipation of the new adventure. “It practically flies itself. No pilot’s license required for this model.”

Not sure whether she was hearing pure male bravado or the substance of a genuine product review, Sandy flashed a mildly pessimistic expression, but covered it quickly so as not to put a damper on her son’s excitement. Jacob wasn’t going to let her rain on the new-toy parade anyway.

“The Hortons were playing with one of these things in the school parking lot after b-ball practice a few months ago. They let Jacob and me have a turn, and I was surprised by how really easy it was to control,” Gabe confirmed for the questioning mom.

Jacob winked at his dad as if sharing a secret between men. “We even completed a clandestine op and got some close up footage of the cheerleading squad,” he snickered, the tenor of his voice near that of his pre-arrest days.

Setting the drone aside, he reached to hug his father. “I want to fly it now,” Jacob announced. “Let’s test it out.”

Gabe nodded his agreement, “I will start charging the batteries while you study the instructions. We can conduct our flight test out in the cul-de-sac. Should be a perfect day to learn all the moves; the wind is calm outside.”

Passing Sandy in the door, he couldn’t help but flash a smug, “I told you so” look.

“No spying on the neighbors,” she cautioned, now smiling slightly herself. “We have to live here, you know.”

It was almost an hour before the green LED of the charger indicated the battery was fully juiced. By then, Jacob had finished downloading the piloting app on his smartphone.

Gabe carried the drone outside, followed more slowly by Jacob as he managed his crutches.

“Ready for the maiden voyage?” Jacob asked, his thumbs working the smartphone’s screen.

“All indicators are green,” Gabe replied, doing his best imitation of a NASA launch controller.

The drone was sitting in the middle of a wide concrete expanse, looking like a cross between a giant insect and a miniature Transformer robot. With one last stroke of his thumb, Jacob peered up from the phone and beamed as the tiny propellers began buzzing in rotation.

“Taking her up,” Jacob announced, his thumbs and attention returning to the control center in his cell.

The drone performed just as he expected, rising six feet into the air, and then hovering steadily.

“Going to make it spin around and catch you in the video, Dad. Smile!”

Again, the machine responded perfectly, rotating 90 degrees and stopping with its bug-eyed camera staring at a grinning Gabe Chase.

“That’s fantastic, son. Is this one as easy as Horton’s to fly?”

“Better. I can view what the camera is seeing on my phone. Here, let me show you. I’ll turn around, and you hold up some fingers. I’ll tell you how many.”

Gabe waited on Jacob to hobble on his supports, holding up three fingers after his son had turned away.

“Three,” Jacob announced with pride. “This is so cool. I’m going to take her up higher.”

And without further ado, the red drone shot skyward like a rocket launching from the pad.

Gabe meandered toward his son, clearly wanting to join in on the action. Jacob positioned the phone so his father could see the screen, the two men enjoying an amazingly clear view of their neighborhood from 200 feet in the sky. Gabe waved his hand in the air, watching his miniature rendering on the phone mimic the motion in nearly real time. “That’s amazing; there’s practically no delay at all.”

Sandy watched from the window, a smile spreading across her face. “Got to give it to you, Gabe. It’s like the old Jacob is back.”

The two played with the drone for several minutes, the machine hovering high above their subdivision, dipping and zipping up and down the street. At one point, Jacob brought it in low, wrapping an arm around his father, posing for the camera. The machine had the perfect angle, peering down upon the grinning pair and recording a quality, clear video.

Gabe noticed an odd look develop on his son’s face as he stared at the small screen on his phone. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Jacob replied, a scowl crossing his brow. “I wish this drone had been hovering over my car that night. With video like this, there wouldn’t be any doubt about what really happened.”

Peelian Principle

Police should always direct their action strictly towards their functions and never appear to usurp the powers of the judiciary.

Adam had done his best to warn them, had coached and reassured Jacob on how to handle the interview.

The two detectives met the Chase family in the Barlow Law Office, Adam convincing the concerned parents that the hassle of bringing Jacob to his complex would do far less damage than allowing the cops to enter their home. “Keep your house an island of tranquility, even if it is surrounded by the storm of legal proceedings. You both need it. Jacob needs it,” he had advised.

By the time the Chase family arrived, the two detectives had already been shown into the well-appointed conference room. Neither of them was what Gabe had expected.

One was a short, balding man with a serious paunch that challenged the integrity of his leather belt. Hardly the television depiction of a senior crime fighter.

The other was dressed to the nines, including the most fashionable width tie and highly polished shoes. Not a single hair was out of place, the obvious result of significant quantities of glue-like man-spray.             

After everyone was seated, Mr. Dapper fired the first question, “Why did you resist the officer that morning, Jacob?”

“I didn’t, sir.”

“So of all the people in Houston… of all the cars on the road that night, an entire group of Houston police officers decided to cull one Mr. Jacob Chase out of the herd and beat the shit out of him. Is that what you expect us to believe?”

Baldy didn’t give the kid a chance to answer, adding, “I’ve read the service record of every one of those cops you claim used excessive force, son. There were over 50 years of law enforcement experience around your car that night. Four of the officers had received accommodations for valor above and beyond the call of duty. Two of them are up for promotion for their exemplary performance and leadership skills. Why should we believe they decided to risk their careers just to get in a few licks on a 17-year-old kid?”

Gabe threw Adam a harsh look, as if to ask why the lawyer wasn’t coming to Jacob’s rescue. But the attorney remained stoic, almost disinterested. The defensive parent then remembered the warning Sandy and he had received. “They’ll be rough, probably downright mean to your son. This isn’t testimony. It’s an investigation, so I can’t get involved unless they cross certain lines. Don’t worry; Jacob will do fine.”

“Because they did, sir. I don’t know why, but they had no good reason to beat me that night. I didn’t do anything. I swear,” Jacob pleaded.

The two detectives glanced at each other, but it was impossible to read the nonverbal message they exchanged. “Okay, Mr. Chase, let’s start from the beginning. Tell us about that morning.”

Adam knew what the cops were doing – he’d used the same interrogation technique a thousand times. Their initial barrage of hardnosed questions had been designed to piss the kid off… or frighten him… whatever was necessary to burrow through the coached version of events. Emotion tended to make people tell their story at a different level of detail, speed of events, or perspective. The two investigators wanted only one deliverable from their interview – inconsistency.

If Jacob changed his story, even in the slightest detail, then he was lying in the eyes of the pessimistic officers. If he messed up the sequence of events, he was being dishonest. Later, the two gumshoes would compare their tape recording to the original complaint and highlight all of the divergences.

Watching the exchange, Barlow had to admit the other side had an asymmetric edge. Cops investigating their own seemed like a conflict of interest, and in reality, it was all that and more. The men questioning his client had to work with brother officers, in difficult conditions, every hour of every day. Who knew when their lives might depend on one of the men they were seeking to discredit or impeach? It was the same with the DA’s office. The legal eagles needed law enforcement, depended on “Big Blue” to risk their lives while delivering the criminals and evidence. Going after one of their own co-workers was difficult at best.

Young Jacob Chase had a chance at justice, but it was slim. In the last year alone, 600 complaints of police brutality had been filed against the Houston Police Department, only four having ever made it to a grand jury. Even when cops reported on their fellow officers, something that occurred over 180 times per year, the fraction of policemen facing a judge was less than 1%.

But the advent of cell phone videos and cruiser dash cameras was changing the game. Adam thought they would at least get a judicious hearing, perhaps remove what he now considered a dangerous individual from his position of authority. 

As he observed the proceedings, it was clear that Jacob was sticking to his original narrative. The lawyer watched as the two detectives became more frustrated, almost taking it as a personal challenge to cross the kid up. Gone was any desire to uncover the truth, honor being thrown out the window along with all of the moral implications of the story being told. The kid’s consistency was a professional affront to their decades of experience and skill. Despite all of the tools in their significant bag of tricks, Jacob held true to his account of the event.

While on the surface it appeared as if information was flowing only in one direction, in reality Adam was gathering his own intelligence and evidence. The two officers were pressing hard – pulling out all the stops – going far beyond the call of duty. That told the attorney something, exposing the fact that important people were worried about Jacob’s accusations.
Good,
he thought.
They should be.

After two hours, Adam finally spoke up. “That’s enough guys. I’ve sat here without saying a word for 120 minutes, listened to you rehash the same questions twelve ways from Sunday. My client has been hospitalized, is still suffering post-stress syndrome, and has been nothing but cooperative up until this point.”

Detective Dapper’s head snapped in Adam’s direction. “Are you hindering our investigation, Counselor?” he challenged.

“Are
you
trying to put my client back in the hospital, Detective? I’m sure you two could eventually wear him down, trip him up after what – another 16-20 hours of non-stop interrogation? East Germany fell several years ago, gentlemen. We don’t operate like that around here.”

Both men bristled at the comparison, but neither replied.

“I have one last question for Mr. Chase,” said Detective Paunch. “Do you really want me to ruin those officers’ lives, young man? Do you really want us to take everything they’ve worked for and throw it away?”

Jacob reached into his pocket and pulled out the rejection letter from the college, sliding it across the table at the two interrogators. “No one seems to care that my life… everything I’ve worked for has been thrown away because of a bully hiding behind a badge. I’ve lost all my friends, my chance at an education, and I will probably be permanently disabled. So now it’s my turn to ask a question - shouldn’t someone pay for that?”

The two investigators packed up their briefcases shortly afterward, exiting the Barlow law firm without another word.

Jacob sat quietly in his chair, his gaze focused on some point in space above the conference table. His parents, regulated to watching the entire event from the back of the room, hurried to comfort him.

After ensuring Jacob was okay, Gabe approached Adam, naturally curious regarding the lawyer’s opinion of how the session had gone for their side.

Sandy stayed with her son, congratulating him on being strong and sticking to his guns. No one seemed to notice his lack of enthusiasm, even the normally perceptive mother writing off his reaction to exhaustion from the effort.

Once in the car, Gabe and Sandy chatted non-stop as they struggled to process the influx of data obtained from the encounter. Neither of them had any experience with legal issues, and making sense of the afternoon’s events put both of them on cognitive overload. Jacob dejectedly peered out the window as his dad navigated rush hour traffic. “They don’t believe me,” the teen whispered under his breath. “No one believes me.”

Jacob excused himself after the Chases arrived home, seemingly unable to share the sense of progress his parents were feeling. “I’ve had enough for today. I’m gonna head to my room,” the teen announced.

Kissing his mother on the cheek, he said, “I love you,” and then hobbled to his father, extending his arms for a hug. Again, the young man muttered those same three words.

“Are you okay, son?” Gabe asked, detecting something odd in the teen’s demeanor.

“I’m just tired, Dad. That whole thing just really wore me out today.”

“Okay, buddy. Go upstairs and get some rest. I’ll take Manny and you out later for ice cream to celebrate if you’re up to it.”

Nodding with a half-smile, Jacob made for the stairs, the effort of climbing to the second story seemingly more and more difficult with the crutches.

He closed his bedroom door, staring at his bed with disgust, dreading another afternoon on the once-comfortable mattress. He limped toward his desk instead, opening his laptop and bringing up the social media site Manny and he used to communicate.

“I’m tired from the interview today. Those guys were pretty rough, but everyone said I handled the questioning well,” he typed. “I’m going to give you the day off,” he added, ending the statement with a smiley face. “I love you, Manny, and no matter what happens, I want you to remember that. My parents and you are the only people who believe in me, and that means everything. I love you and always will.”

He sent the message, aware that Manny wouldn’t be able to see it until she was heading home – knowing it was against the rules for students to access their cell phones on school property.

Rising, he shuffled to his dresser and slid the top drawer open. In the back of the bin, he located a pair of rolled up socks, his lucky game pair from his last season. He turned the outer sock as if he were going to wear it, and a handful of pain tablets tumbled onto the dresser. He’d been collecting the powerful medication and hiding the unused pills from his parents.

At first, he’d stashed an occasional dosage because the medications hurt his stomach, and he didn’t like how the narcotics made his head spin. The pain in his body was the lesser of the two evils. His mother made such a fuss if he tried to refuse the pills, so stashing them in his socks had been his chosen solution.

Later, when the mental pain began outstripping the agony of his physical injuries, he’d taken to putting the meds back for a rainy day – just in case.

After the lawyer had failed in getting the charges against him dismissed, Jacob had started looking at his now-significant pharmaceutical stash as a last ditch move to avoid going to jail. “I’ll take them all before I go to prison,” he’d vowed.

That pledge had directed the young man down a different path of reasoning.
What is so different about losing my freedom behind bars, and the future I now face?
Both options restricted his choices. Both meant a life where his once honorable reputation was tarnished beyond repair. Both were filled with day after day of nothingness.

And then there was the pain and suffering he was causing those around him. He’d limped downstairs a few nights before and overheard his parents while they were discussing the cost of his lawyers, medical bills, and the upcoming trial. They were being ruined financially, and the thought of his folks living in poverty or not being able to retire was a huge burden to bear.

Then there was Manny. He knew she was paying a heavy price for her loyalty to him. A perverted version of the truth was circulating all over social media. What kind of life could he promise her without college? What kind of provider could he be? With all of his mom and dad’s funds earmarked toward keeping him out of jail – a higher education was out of the question.

And now, today, there were the policemen who might have their lives ruined because of him. Jacob realized they had just blindly followed the sergeant’s lead.
They probably have kids, and some of them might even be my classmates,
he mused
. They might have sat across from me at the lunch table or have had my back on the court. Should those teens’ lives be wrecked, too? How would those kids feel if their fathers lost their jobs or went to prison because of one mistake made in the early hours of a confusing morning? Where will all this pain and devastation end?