The Archangel Drones (35 page)

As Dole followed the other officer into the late night establishment, he returned to worrying about Marwick having figured it out after all. The entire encounter was just bizarre, completely out of character.

After the two officers were seated and had ordered, Big Jim wasted no time. “I’m well aware that you don’t know me that well, but I’ve kind of got my back up against a wall and thought you might be able to help me out without anyone down at the precinct knowing about our conversation.”

“Sure, Sergeant. You’ve always played square by me,” Dole lied.

“Somebody managed to download, or copy, or steal the dash camera recording from that night I had your cruiser. I checked around with a few old friends of mine, and they’re like me… a bunch of old- fashioned shits who don’t understand all this technical gobbledygook. I figured a young guy like you would have a better handle on it and might do an old law dog a favor and explain it all in plain English.”

Dole nodded, still not quite sure Marwick wasn’t laying some sort of tiger trap. “I’ll do my best, sir, but I’m no expert. What is it you want to know?”

“First things first, where would they have gotten a copy of the recording? I know the card I gave you back was erased. I accidently wiped it clean when I was creating my report. So where did this new version come from?”

It occurred to Dole that the older cop was playing dumb. After all, cloud-based storage wasn’t rocket science. He decided to answer honestly, just in case it was a test. “The camera system in the patrol car you were assigned that night has an automatic backup to what is called cloud storage. Basically, every so many hours, a copy of all recordings is sent wirelessly to an internet server somewhere. I don’t know where.”

Tilting his head, Marwick seemed to ponder the response for a long time. “So why is there a memory card like all the other cameras? Kind of seems redundant.”

“In case the wireless signal can’t get through, I suppose. Hell, I’m not a computer engineer.”

That answer seemed to satisfy the beefy officer. Marwick started nodding his head, indicating he now understood. “So if the video was out on the internet, practically any hacker could have broken in and downloaded a copy.”

Dole decided to play dumb himself. “I suppose so. Again, I couldn’t write a computer program to save my ass. I only know about the cloud storage because the tech that installed it in my cruiser about drove me nuts. The guy was so excited about that particular feature that his behavior was memorable. I was a rookie at the time and thought I had to pay strict attention to anything anybody said.”

Marwick grunted, having witnessed years of stupid rookie tricks. After a brief pause, the big man’s expression became serious again. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one could overhear, he said, “I’m convinced that the Archangel is the guy who hacked into the department’s video vault and copied that recording.”

If his co-diner hadn’t been so large, and so very dangerous, Dole would have busted out laughing in the man’s face. Using extreme levels of self-discipline, he managed to keep his expression “conspiracy theory” serious, replying, “Really? You think so?”

“Who else could it be?” Jim replied. “Some asshole has a vendetta against me and the department and has either hired professionals to smear our good name or is doing it all himself. I intend on finding the guy, and….”

Dole didn’t ask, “And what?” He didn’t need to. Instead, the younger officer tried to appear accommodating and said, “What can I do to help?”

“I’m not sure just yet. Even now, I have enough friends scattered throughout the force to keep me in the loop, so I won’t ask you to get involved just yet. Still, it’s good to know a man has friends. Thanks.”

Kirkpatrick wanted to grab the thickheaded cop and shake some sense into his malfunctioning grey matter. Didn’t Marwick realize he’d already involved another man simply by showing up at the diner? Was this buffoon not taking the charges against him seriously? Surely, even Big Jim wasn’t
that
stupid or naïve.

Poking another fork of hash browns into his pie hole, Dole pretended to be busy chewing while trying to think of something to say next. As if he were reading the younger man’s mind, Marwick glanced at his watch and announced, “Shit… it’s late. I got to be running.”

Again, the younger officer was shocked when the sergeant stretched out his hand. After a quick shake, Jim muttered a hasty farewell. “Thanks for the java,” the sergeant offered as he was headed toward the door.

After finishing his meal, Dole worked on his coffee and tried to clear his head so he could be alert for the rest of his shift. It was an extremely complex situation, very difficult to read. As he threw back the bottom of the cup, he settled on having handled the peculiar encounter reasonably well, giving himself a mental pat on the back.

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” he whispered, strolling out the door.

Chapter 11

Peelian Principle

The ability of the police to perform their duties is dependent upon public approval of police action
s.

There were 14 people on Big Jim’s list of potentials. While he’d had far more official complaints filed against his badge number over the years, many of those citizens were no longer in the picture. Some had died. Some were still in prison. Some had moved away from Houston.

To whittle that number down to three had taken a few days, half a dozen phone calls, and more computer time than Marwick could ever remember investing. A few suspects had been eliminated after the big cop had assessed them as too stupid to be the Archangel. Another number scratched off because they barely had a pot to piss in, let alone the finances to shop the internet for sophisticated drones and their custom parts.

He organized the remaining candidates, determined to utilize his paid time off in a productive manner by performing some undercover surveillance. Gabriel Chase was first on the list.

He had parked down the street from the Chase residence for an entire day, waiting for someone to return home after a long day at the office. Eleven hours, four cups of coffee, and a to-go burger later, Jim began to wonder if anyone still resided at the address in the older, middle-class neighborhood.

Given the late hour, darkness, and lack of local traffic, he decided to take a chance and get a closer look. It was risky, the captain and DA sure to blow a fuse if he were caught snooping around a still active case and potential witness.

He knew the suicide kid’s father had settled with a ton of cash, the police union representative and city manager making their displeasure clear to the chief. Shit rolled downhill in the police force hierarchy, the avalanche of manure soon passing through the captain and landing directly on Jim’s head.

“Did you take your millions and move to Hawaii, Mr. Chase? Or did you invest those ill-gotten gains in drone technology and night school computer classes?” Jim asked the apparently empty house.

With flashlight in hand, he exited his private vehicle and made for the modest but dark home.

He entered the backyard via the side gate, a strategy designed to prevent nosey neighbors from spying a strange man peeking in their friend’s windows… and calling the cops.

He found the lawn well maintained, the bushes trimmed, and the back windows closed and locked. But the drapes were open.

Jim flashed his light inside, finding a humbly appointed home that was particularly neat and tidy. He could see in the kitchen, noting no dirty dishes resided in the sink, no loaf of bread or bowl of fruit on the laminated countertop, no coffeepot on the stove. The only sign of life consisted of a series of small mounds of mail. Piled in several neat, short stacks, the system seeming to indicate some nice person next door was checking the box while the homeowner was out of town.

“I bet you’re spending your dirty money traveling the world, Mr. Chase,” Jim whispered to the manicured backyard. “Wherever you are, it sure doesn’t look like you’re living here. One down, two to go.”

It was almost midnight as he drove out of the Chase’s subdivision. The next name on his list lived not far away, and the benched cop was still too keyed up from his backyard invasion for home or sleep. “Can’t hurt to scout it out before tomorrow’s detective work,” he convinced himself.

Chip and Amanda’s home was still clearly occupied. Driving to the unassuming abode surfaced old memories of that night. Marwick didn’t feel any regrets or guilt. His only emotion was a curiosity regarding why his instinct had failed him on that occasion. He would have sworn the basketball star was up to no good. “It happens. No one is right 100% of the time,” he reconciled. Self-confidence had never been an issue for Big Jim.

Pulling his car off at the end of the street, he sat and scanned the residence, the blue flashes of light visible through the curtain a sure sign someone was home and up late watching the TV.

Satisfied he had work to do tomorrow, Jim put his car in gear and proceeded home. “I’m going to find you Mister Archangel, and when I do, I’m going to pluck those wings off your body nice and slow and painful like. You are going to regret the day you fucked with Jimmy Marwick and the Houston Police Department.”

Sunrise saw Chip and Amanda’s sleepy street was again blessed with the presence of one James Marwick. Sitting with two sandwiches, a thermos of coffee, and a reasonable quality camera, Big Jim was ready for a day of observation.

He’d arrived early and prepared, having no idea where his suspects worked or what time they normally left for the daily grind. Houston’s traffic was notoriously nasty for those commuting to work or school, some suburban drivers leaving hours before the normal workday began. Jim didn’t want to miss anything.

He remembered the teenage girl from the incident, watching her bound to the curb and smile at the approaching bus. She hadn’t changed much.

The wife was next, backing out of the driveway in an apparent rush for the office… or store… or wherever she worked. Jim didn’t remember her from that night, had no background information on her whatsoever.

And then there was nothing. His primary target was either off today, unemployed, or working from home. A little disappointed, but not discouraged, Jim refilled his coffee cup. He watched the steam rise from the Styrofoam container and dissipate into nothingness. “That’s just like all the bullshit that Mr. Goody Two Shoes Archangel is throwing at me,” he whispered. “It all seems hot and important at first, but soon it will disappear without leaving a trace.”

Chip had helped Amanda get Manny off to school, the two parents fussing about the lack of frontal lobe development being displayed by their absentminded daughter.

After both of the girls had finally made it out of the house, he was clearing away the breakfast dishes when Gabe’s caller ID flashed with his cell’s display.

“Good morning, boss,” he answered cheerfully.

Gabe was excited. “Hey, Chip. Sorry to call so early, but I’m kind of pumped up and anxious to run a test. I finished the G-3 a few hours ago, and I think it’s ready for an extended flight.”

Smiling at his friend’s enthusiasm, he replied, “Very cool! I am at your beck and call, sir. When and where do you want me?”

“Are you home right now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just stay there, and keep an eye out over your backyard. I’m going to send our newest Gripen over to visit. We can run a few tests then.”