Luke stood on the front porch of the house as his detectives moved beyond the police line and started identifying neighbors. He lifted the photo, staring at it intently through the plastic sleeve, he committed it to memory. He had been briefed over the radio as he’d driven to the scene. The boy had called 911 from a payphone at South Station just before 01:00. A couple of hours after the death of his mother, that gave him plenty of time to concoct a cover story.

  His father was missing; the boy was on the run - who had a motive to murder Anna Smith?

  Anton Smith had reported a pair of assailants. Luke had checked the names. There was any number of Chloe Armitages, and Marcus Drakes in the world, but none known for being criminals on the Boston Police Department databases. Luke knew he had to find Anton Smith. He was either the perpetrator or the primary witness. He was running - but who was he running from? The police or the real murderers.

  He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around.

  “You need to see this,” Sarah insisted in hushed tones.

  Trembling momentarily, she turned back into the house.

  Luke pocketed the Smith family photo, following her back into the lounge room.

  The other two CSRU staff were still at the crime scene, standing back from the body, staring at the head on the floor. They were both young; the woman looked like she was about to cry and the man had his hand over his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but was frightened to say it.

  Sarah squatted down, using her probe to lift a sheath of hair away from Anna’s cheek. “Look here, at the top of her throat - puncture marks.”

  Luke frowned, crouching down on one knee to examine Anna Smith’s head. There was a strange combination of puncture wounds; partially healed with faded scar tissue on her throat. “A dog bite?” he asked. “Looks like it’s a week old at least.”

  “I don’t know, but I doubt it - it’s too controlled - there is only the one bite that we can see. A dog attack would leave bite wounds all over her body. But look at this,” Sarah instructed, inserting one end of her forensic probe into the largest of the puncture wounds. The probe descended in about half an inch. “The bite would have severed the carotid artery - it should have killed her - but you can see that the wound is partially healed and the artery itself has closed over. It’s bizarre.”

  Luke felt a shiver go up his spine and he rubbed his chin with his hand. “That’s impossible.”

  “Not only that - I double checked the shoulder wound, and the Thoracoacromial Artery had also closed over and the entry and exit wounds were partially healed.”

  The young CSRU tech spoke in a harsh whisper, his hands on his head, “It was a vampire.”

  “Shut up!” Luke growled. “This is the real world, not a damn TV show. There will be a rational explanation for this.” He glowered around the room. This had all been staged. What sort of monster was Anton Smith?

  Luke stepped away from the body, he suddenly needed fresh air. He went back out on the porch. He dialed the duty desk at the district office. The officer on duty picked up the call and Luke commanded, “Initiate an arrest warrant for Anton Smith. I want him found, he is our prime suspect for the murder of his mother and the disappearance of his father.”

  Luke frowned, shaking his head. A son murdering his mother, it was disgusting, he vowed to himself to close this case. Finding justice for the dead, it was what drove him, and he would not stop until Anton Smith had paid for his crime.

  * * *

  James Haley slowed the car to a crawl as he approached the entrance of the court where the Smith residence was located.

  The red and blue strobe lights of a pair of Boston Police Department cars lit up the court entrance. A big white Crime Scene Response Unit van was parked on the far side of the police cars. A navy blue, Ford Explorer SUV, typical of the type used by the Boston Police Department was beyond the CSRU van. ‘Do Not Cross’ police tape had been strung on stands on the sidewalk and around the front yard of the Smith residence. All around the court, neighbors, and other onlookers huddled in small groups. Several people were using their smartphones to video the event or take photographs. Four uniformed officers kept everyone clear of operations as a pair of detectives were taking initial statements from neighbors.

  Interviewing of potential witnesses had already begun. James growled in disgust, “What a circus, this is so FUBAR, who tipped them off?”

  A tall, bald man with an air of command about him, was on the front porch staring at something in an evidence bag. Was it a photo? One of the CSRU staff tapped the photo-holding detective on the shoulder and he turned and followed her back into the house.

  James assessed the situation. The Investigator-In-Charge and the head on site of the CSRU were clearly troubled by something. “What did they just find? I need to shut this down and fast.”

  He switched off his car’s engine. Flipped open his laptop and logged in. The laptop networked back to the Panopticon with high speed encrypted satellite links. He lifted his smartphone, zooming in with the phone’s camera on the police vehicles, associated staff, and onlookers. The phone began networking directly with the Panopticon.

  “Okay, who am I dealing with here?” he asked himself. Two minutes later he had summarized files on all the police staff currently on site, and who they reported to.

  James read the first line from the Panopticon response out loud, “Sergeant Detective Luke Walker is the Investigator-In-Charge with responsibility for the disposition of the crime scene and the evidence. He is responsive to the District Attorney or the Medical Examiner.”

  He fell silent, tapping the side of the laptop as he read deeper into the files, scanning and reading pages at a glance. He quickly concluded, “I need to be a delegate of the DA.”

  James put his laptop aside. Opening his car’s glove box, he withdrew a small black box from within it.

  He released the biometric lock on the box with his thumbprint. Inside the box was a set of fake IDs. Each ID matched his biometrics and were backed by fully defined sets of data across more than a dozen government and private systems. With them he could easily impersonate a range of different roles and authorities. These ‘ghosts’ even drew salaries from their host organizations. He flicked through them, picking out the most appropriate one for dealing with this situation. James, aka Jim, Alexander, an FBI agent from the Manhattan Joint Terrorism Task Force Annex. The JTTF Annex was a Shadowstone front organization seamlessly integrated with the real FBI.

  Now all he needed was the paperwork. He ran another program on his laptop. A minute later he had a filled form, signed by the Suffolk County District Attorney assigning Jim Alexander as his delegate for the Smith case. He hit Ctrl-P on his laptop, a printer built into the car’s console under the glove box whirred into life, pushing out a high definition, full color copy of the signed delegation form.

  James carefully and neatly folded the form and put it aside. A Boston Emergency Medical Services Ambulance passed his car, entered the court and parked in the driveway of the Smith residence. He shook his head as two EM technicians got out of the Ambulance.

  Where the hell was the Green-4 Spectrum team? He looked at his watch, it was pushing 03:00, Louise Wesson should be here any minute. He dialed her smartphone.

  “Sir?” she answered.

  “Where are you?” James hissed.

  “Two minutes away from your location. We’re in Jamaica Plain now.”

  “OK. Slow down just as you reach the court. I’m parked here and I will lead us in. Once in, wait for further orders.”

  “Yes, Sir. Will do.”

  James hung up and started his engine. In moments, he could see two black Chevrolet Express vans in his car’s mirrors. He rolled forward into the street, swerving into formation in front of them. As a group, they drove into the court, parking opposite the Smith residence. James slotted the DA delegation form into an inside pocket of his jacket, got out of his car and walked to the edge of the police line.

  One of BPD uniforms approached him, and stated, “Sir, this is an active crime scene, and you’re not allowed access.”

  James flashed his FBI credentials. “I’m with the FBI JTTF out of the Manhattan Annex, who is the investigator in charge on site.”

  The officer hesitated for a moment, and then produced a list on a clipboard and requested, “I will need your details.”

  “No problem,” James replied, adding the name Jim Alexander, and his FBI ID details to the proffered list.

  The officer waved James through and instructed, “He’s Sergeant Detective Luke Walker, you can’t miss him, he’s the big, bald guy in a suit.”

  “Thanks, Officer Jones,” James offered, with a brief smile as he walked past the officer. Be polite. Get the names right. Do it by the book. Don’t be a bastard. Works every time.

  James walked up the porch steps to the open front door. He reached the landing as Walker emerged, followed by a grim looking EM tech.

  Walker looked James up and down and declared brusquely, “Who are you, and what are you doing on my crime scene?”

  James handed Walker the DA delegation form and stated, “I’m Special Agent Jim Alexander with the FBI JTTF out of the Manhattan Annex.”

  Walker opened the form and read it. Shaking his head and scowling as he quickly got to the end of it. “Well doesn’t that just take the cake.”

  The EM tech looked at Walker, and then James, and then back at Walker and asked, “Should I get the body bag?”

  James directed, “No, go get your buddy and sit in your ambulance. One of my staff will debrief you and then you can go.”

  Walker asked indignantly, “How the hell is this a terrorism case?”

  James ignored Walker’s question, signaling Louise with a wave of his hand to come over. “Look, it’s nothing personal. There are bigger forces at play in this case. You’re a good cop, I can see that. Everything has been done by the book and I bet you’re already putting a case together.”

  James clapped a big hand on Walker’s shoulder. The two men stood eye to eye and he offered, “We’re brothers in arms, fighting the same fight. I’ve already been briefed on this. You’ve got a runner, the son, Anton Smith … he’s the prime suspect, isn’t he?”

  Walker growled with annoyance, but replied, “I’ve initiated an arrest warrant. We’re already closing in on him.”

  The warrant would have to be rescinded. James made a mental note to sort that out later. “I’m sure you are,” James affirmed confidently. “It’s time to call your team together. My staff will debrief everyone and collect all bagged evidence. In fifteen minutes, the handover will be complete.”

  “You can’t hand over a crime scene in fifteen minutes!” Walker stated, aghast.

  “My team is highly professional. We’ll get it done.” James glanced out at the court, Wesson and another eight plainclothes Shadowstone operatives were standing in a loose group back from the police line. They were not signing themselves in as per standing orders. They did not have multiple prepared identities. They were waiting for him to clear the path for them.

  “Look, Sergeant Detective Walker, I need you to immediately remove your team from this site. It is imperative that all evidence is immediately handed over to my team.”

  Walker shook his head, looked disgusted but turned and yelled into the house, “Close it down everyone, the FBI is here and they have jurisdiction over this case.”

  In five minutes, the house had been evacuated, and the BPD staff were being debriefed by the Shadowstone operatives who were collecting the evidence bags, taking notes and recording statements on video.

  James went back to his car. He retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit up, taking a long pull on the cigarette as he watched Wesson lead the debriefs. He mused silently as he smoked, It isn’t what they know, it’s what they can prove that matters. There’s often something strange in these cleanup cases.

  He took another pull on the cigarette. It had been a long night, and he enjoyed a few minutes of peace and relaxation. What would it be this time?

  He finished a second cigarette as he waited for the last of the BPD staff to leave the site. He watched as his operators moved in, clearing the onlookers back to their homes. Nothing to see here, move along, go back to your homes.

  It was the same consistent message that was used every time. The Green-4 team operatives repositioned the vans and started pulling out their specialized equipment. He butted out the cigarette, putting it carefully into the car’s ashtray - no evidence would be left behind. We’re ghosts in what we do.

  James pushed off from the car. He walked through his team, clapping people on the shoulders, and checking equipment on backpacks. He directed his team, “Okay guys, let’s be careful, let’s be thorough. Make it a good job, a clean job, and get it done.”

  Convinced they were fully prepared, he led them into the house.

  * * *

  Louise Wesson, Shadowstone operative, recently recruited from a very specialized cell within the Operations Directorate of the CIA took personal responsibility for managing the removal of Anna Smith’s body.

  Around her was a hive of well-organized activity as Green-4 operatives first sprayed a clear, odorless mist and then followed with flashes of intense ultraviolet light. The treatments evaporated any biological evidence remaining in the house. When they were finished, there would be no trace that the Smith family had ever lived there.

  Louise was thankful for the forensic gloves that she wore as she picked up Anna Smith’s head and put it in a body bag with the rest of her remains. She started zipping the bag closed when she saw something that made her pause. She whispered, “What the hell.”

  She reached into the bag, pushing back the hair from Anna’s cheek. The floodlights positioned by her team allowed no mistake. Bite marks? She pushed her gloved little finger into the largest hole, it went in nearly to the first joint. The hole was right on the carotid artery and too deep to survive - and yet the artery was still intact? What the hell, was someone playing games?

  Louise’s lip curled into a derisive smile. She zipped the bag closed with a sudden movement and stood up. She commanded her team, “Okay boys, move this trash out and complete the sweeps.”

  She stepped back as two of her operatives picked up the body bag and took it outside to one of the waiting vans. She looked back around the lounge room with fresh eyes. If this family had been her target, there would be three bodies here, not one. This was not a professional hit. Who would bite someone’s throat out and then chop their head off? And where was all the blood?

  Louise shook her head, continuing with the task at hand, she had a device that looked a lot like a smartphone and which behaved like a powerful torch. She walked through each room, scanning all the surfaces with the light from the compact unit. At the end of the sweep, she’d not found any biological traces of the Smith family. She tapped her earpiece and reported calmly, “All clear, Sir.”

  Haley’s voice called back through the comms channel, “Let’s wrap this up, there is still more work to do tonight.”

  Louise walked out of the house, dropping her gear off in the nearest van. She approached the driver of the other van which had Anna Smith’s body in it and directed, “Get this corpse and the other trash to Rikers Island for disposal.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” the operative replied.

  Haley stood by his car, waving her over.

  She strode over, joining him beside the car.

  “We have a local office. We need to check in on our target,” Haley directed.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  They got into the car, and Haley drove them away from the court. She’d been working with Haley as one of his direct subordinates for six months now. She was used to making correct assessments of people in the first five minutes. She’d found Haley to be very hard to read, and that intrigued her. The only other person that she’d met that was more impenetrable was the woman who had interviewed her for her current role - General Chloe Armitage. Now that was one stone cold killer, she’d mused to herself after meeting Armitage for the first time.

  She’d found a shell just below Armitage’s surface that surrounded secrets she would never discover, and that annoyed her. She enjoyed knowing how other people ticked, what their buttons were, what they would respond too, especially under stress. It was her skill, knowing people, and being able to anticipate what they would do. Louise was used to asking questions and getting back much more information than the person answering the question would ever suspect they had given away.

  Haley drove the car into the center of the city of Boston, descending into an underground parking garage.

  “That didn’t look like a terrorist incident.” Louise offered, glancing across at her boss. “It also didn’t appear to be the actions of a mad man. It just looked - different.”

  Haley snorted. “Every newbie always asks a variant of that question.” Parking the car, he turned to Louise and stared directly into her brown eyes. “There’s some odd shit from time to time, but our job is clear, protect the security of the anti-terror operations. So just do your job, you will live a lot longer that way.”

  Louise usually felt fear as a form of excitement, but there was something in the way that Haley had just spoken, a supreme confidence in consequences, that sent a genuine shiver of dread up her spine. She shutdown the desire to frown, it was not her way to wear dangerous emotions like fear on her face. She followed him silently out of the garage and into the offices of a front company owned by Shadowstone. Haley flicked a pass over a reader and the door swung aside. As she passed through the doorway, Louise read a set of gold lettering on the door. R.I.S.C, Risk, Investigation, Security, Consultants.

  I’ve been working for Shadowstone for six months. I have more questions now than when I started.

  * * *

  Anton arched his back, stretching cramped muscles, he repositioned for a better view of his home.

 

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