Chapter 11

I sat alone in a small room. I thought the interview room at Arlington PD was sparse, but this one defined the term. Other than myself, the only things in the room were a table and three chairs. There were no windows, only a door. Oh! And a single security camera up in the corner, on the ceiling which had a good view of the entire room.

The officers who led me here didn’t mention FAA laws or criminal charges. They didn’t frisk me or look for contraband. For that matter, they let me keep my phone. They only asked for my ID, which I gave them. And, I’ve been left in this room ever since.

I considered calling that lawyer, Susan Frasier, but I wasn’t in trouble. I didn’t need a lawyer.

The thought no more than ran through my mind when the door opened and Ms. Frasier stepped into the doorway. She held the door open, looked at me, and asked, “Has anyone asked you any questions?”

I frowned and then said, “No...”

Before I could say anything else, she turned and looked around the room. She spotted the camera on the ceiling and then looked out the door. “I want this camera and any other recording equipment turned off, now.” Then she nodded at someone I couldn’t see and looked up at the camera.

I looked too. A small, barely visible red light on the side of the camera went out.

Ms. Frasier looked out at the other person again and nodded, then she stepped to the side of the doorway and allowed the door to close.

I watched her set her briefcase on the table and sit down. I wanted to ask why she was here, but she started first.

“Okay,” she said, “Tell me what happened.”

I stared at her open-mouthed.

“Mr. Sutton, if you want to get out of here today, I need you to tell me what happened.”

Talk about straight to the point.

I swallowed my questions for now and gave her a quick run-down of events.

She took notes but stopped and asked, “You heard a voice?”

I nodded.

She asked, “Be specific. Whose voice did you hear?”

“If I knew his name,” I said, “I would have called Arlington PD.” I wiggled my phone for emphasis.

“Why would you tell them?” she asked.

“Because he’s the person who killed Bethany Corvin,” I said.

“Who is Bethany Corvin,” she asked.

“Young woman,” I said, “long brown hair, had latent psionic powers, and was a member of House Vikkor – now known as House Leonis.”

She shook her head and asked, “When did this happen?”

“Sometime earlier this week,” I said. “You should talk to Lt. Stanfield about this. I’m not sure what I’m allowed to tell you.”

“You’re safe under attorney-client privilege,” she said. “Now, why do you believe this man killed Bethany Corvin?”

“He told me,” I said.

“You’re in contact with the killer?”

“No, he left messages at her house that led to her remains.”

“You mean her body?” she asked.

“No,” I said, my voice dropping. She looked up. “All that was left of her was a pile of goo.”

Ms. Frasier focused on my face. “What did you say?”

“A pile of goo,” I said. “The police are running tests on samples they took. They couldn’t even identify which parts of her body the goo came from.”

“Most likely bones and various organs,” she said under her breath, but it was so quiet in the room that I heard her. Then she shook her head, glanced at me, and said, “Would you excuse me for a moment?” Before I could answer, she got up with her phone in hand and stepped out of the room.

I was confused. If what I told her was in confidence, then who was she calling right after I told her details about a murder?

My confusion was quickly replaced by curiosity. She had left her notepad and pen on the table. I glanced at the door, to make sure she wasn’t returning too quickly, and then pulled the pad over to get a better look at her notes.

I couldn’t read any of it. She wrote in code but not with any characters I recognized. I looked down at the bottom, her newest notes, and noticed something written in English: Galen Fletcher. Everything else was in the code.

The door opened again and I quickly put her notepad back on her side of the table.

“Mr. Sutton,” she said, walking in, “I’ve arranged for you and your friends to be released. Those flying out have already passed through security, but the other one, Nate, is waiting outside.”

I nodded, feeling disheartened that I couldn’t say goodbye to Ellen, Eric, or Grace. I stood up and considered why I was being released. I looked at Ms. Frasier and asked her, “They never got my statement. Why are we being released already?”

“After reviewing the security videos,” she said, “They realized that you and your friends hadn’t done anything to warrant having a weapon pulled on you or being shot at.”

I agreed with that, but there were details no one but I could see in those videos. There was even the distinct possibility that the killer’s face was caught by a security camera somewhere. I pointed this out to Ms. Frasier.

“That is for the police to pursue, not you or I.” Then she waved me through the doorway.

I took another step and stopped again. “What about Officer Martinez?”

“She’s being charged. Most likely she’ll lose her badge.”

“What? No! This wasn’t her fault.”

“It’s not your decision, Mr. Sutton,” she said. “And, even if you could explain what happened, how would you prove it?”

I stopped and slumped. She was right. I could explain what happened, but not prove it.

I didn’t like the idea of Martinez being punished for something for which she wasn’t responsible. I looked at the lawyer again. “Can you arrange it for me to talk to Martinez?”

“Why would you want to talk to her?” You can’t help her.”

“I can offer my support,” I said. “But I need to convey this directly.”

She stared at me for a second, gathered her stuff, and then said, “Give me a few minutes. I’ll see what I can do.”

A few minutes later, I was escorted to another small room where Officer Martinez sat brooding. Two other officers stood to the side. They refused to leave. I did my best to ignore them.

“Aren’t you the kid I tried to shoot?” Martinez asked as I sat across from her.

“Yes,” I said, and I continued before she could say anything else, “But, I know it wasn’t you. I know you weren’t in control.”

Her eyes widened at first and then narrowed in anger. “What did you do to me?”

I shook my head. “Not me. I don’t know how to do that. I can move small objects, like the safety catch on your weapon. But, to control a person’s body? No.”

“So, who then?”

“There’s a killer who’s stalking me,” I said. “He used you to try to get at me, but I’m not that easy to be got.”

She stared at me. “What was that thing on your arm? I mean ... I thought I had shot you after I...”

I shook my head again. “Not you. It was not you. HE forced you to turn off the safety. HE forced you to pull the trigger. As for what was on my arm, that Is my shield. It doesn’t deflect bullets. It catches them. Otherwise, a lot of other people out there would have been hurt.”

“You keep saying this killer forced me to do all that, but where’s the proof? Huh?”

I shook my head again. “I can’t prove it. I’m sorry. I came here to talk to you, to let you know that I know that was not you. I know the truth, and if I can find any way to help, I will.”

“You’re just a kid. What can you do?”

“I’d rather think of myself as a young adult. I’m in college. I’ve worked with the police in Arlington. I’ve heard a rumor that you may lose your badge over this.”

“I’ll be lucky to stay out of prison.”

“Do you have a Union Rep, a lawyer, anyone who can help?”

She nodded but didn’t elaborate.

“Good,” I said and then had a thought. “Would you consider working for a P. I. firm?”

“I’m a cop. Why would I work for a PI firm?”