Watchers on the Wind

By Simon Quellen Field

"I'm still shaking," Susie said, watching the ripples in her cup. "I've never killed anyone before."

The lawyer looked down at his notes. "This isn't looking good. We have premeditation. Removal of evidence. Hiding the murder weapon. Leaving the scene. I assume there is DNA evidence all over the car. Where is the car now?"

"Jason has it," Susie said.

"The ex-con just out of prison. This keeps getting worse."

Max tried to come to her defense. "This was all spur of the moment," he said. "Usually, we plan for weeks. Everything is all laid out. Nobody died until last week."

"Wait a minute," the lawyer said. "There's another murder? When?"

"The day I interviewed Jason for the job," Max said.

"You hired the ex-con to do the job?"

"He had all the skills we needed," Sadie piped in from the back of the room. "That's what got him in prison in the first place. We were actually setting him up even before he got out."

"Maybe we should start at the beginning," the lawyer said. "When did you first meet this Jason person?"

"On the day I interviewed him," Max said.

"I met him the day before," Sadie said.

"Me too," Susie added. "But we were following him for weeks before that."

"We had him do a job for us before we ever actually met," Sadie said.

The lawyer sighed.

"Let's go over everything. Slowly. From the beginning," he said.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Quellen Field
• Release date: Feb 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215570586

Book preview

Chapter One

I’m still shaking, Susie said, watching the ripples in her cup. I’ve never killed anyone before.

The lawyer looked down at his notes. This isn’t looking good. We have premeditation. Removal of evidence. Hiding the murder weapon. Leaving the scene. I assume there is DNA evidence all over the car. Where is the car now?

Jason has it, Susie said.

The ex-con just out of prison. This keeps getting worse.

Max tried to come to her defense. This was all spur of the moment, he said. Usually, we plan for weeks. Everything is all laid out. Nobody died until last week.

Wait a minute, the lawyer said. There’s another murder? When?

The day I interviewed Jason for the job, Max said.

You hired the ex-con to do the job?

He had all the skills we needed, Sadie piped in from the back of the room. That’s what got him in prison in the first place. We were actually setting him up even before he got out.

Maybe we should start at the beginning, the lawyer said. When did you first meet this Jason person?

On the day I interviewed him, Max said.

I met him the day before, Sadie said.

Me too, Susie added. But we were following him for weeks before that.

We had him do a job for us before we ever actually met, Sadie said.

The lawyer sighed.

Let’s go over everything. Slowly. From the beginning, he said. He got out a new legal pad and set it out in front of him on the table, his pen poised above it.



Chapter Two

The lobby was smaller than Jason had imagined it would be but large enough. At the far end was a reception desk, behind which a silver-haired woman was giving instructions to a slender younger woman in very short cut-off jeans, T-shirt, and running shoes.

He looked around the room, taking in the chairs near the door, the pictures on the wall, and the noisily panting fat bulldog lying on the floor next to a water dish and bowl of kibble.

His eyes kept wandering back to the long bare athletic legs of the young woman with her back to him, and each time they did he quickly shifted his gaze to something else. The oval rug the dog was lying on. The security cameras near the ceiling in every corner of the room. The pictures on the wall showing brightly colored views of sunsets and rainforests.

As he looked, one of the pictures changed to show desert sand dunes, and he realized they were all video monitors.

The kibble bowl read Sir Pantsalot. The dog seemed determined to earn the name, despite not moving an inch.

He's set it for the highest bit rate, so you'll have to change cards every day since all we have are terabyte cards at the moment, the woman was saying. But that assumes there's not much movement. If you aim it down a busy street, you might have to change cards every couple of hours.

He wants it aimed at a door, the girl said.

Yeah, but where will you park? Across a busy street? That could be a problem.

In a parking garage across the street. On the second floor. He said to park there really early in the morning, so I could get a slot on the outside, next to the target. It will be aiming down, zoomed in on the door. I think I can arrange that the traffic is down below, under the camera view. Unless there's a big truck or something.

You might want to check it twice a day then, but every couple of hours at first. Try changing the card just before business hours, you might get a full eight hours or more during the busy part of the day, and a fresh card might last all night.

I hope I don't screw this up, the girl said in a lower tone.

You'll be fine, honey. I know, because you care.

The girl picked something up off the counter and turned around to see Jason. Her face brightened into a cheery smile, and she almost skipped past him and out through the glass doors.

Jason d'Arcleight, the woman said, calling out his name without looking up from the papers she was arranging.

Yes, Jason said, walking up to the counter. The nameplate said Sadie Silverling.

I need you to sign in here, she said, sliding a log book across to him, and then there are some papers I need you to sign before we get started.

He wrote his name in the book, under the previous entry, which read Susie Vosler, with a date just 10 minutes before the date he wrote next to his own name. He pictured the cheery grin, and the bouncy enthusiasm of the girl who had just left and said the name to himself a few times, hoping to remember it if he got to see her again.

This is permission to do a deep background search on you. It's a service we provide our customers, and they like to know we vet our employees just as thoroughly as we do theirs.

Jason looked at the form.

Um, will that include... he paused.

Yes. But we already know all about that. Felonies and prison time are public records for adults. Or were you worried about the fire at school when you were ten? she said, as he handed the signed form back to her.

Juvenile records are sealed, he said.

We're very thorough.

But you haven't started, he said.

We finished a couple days ago. You wouldn't be here if we hadn't. I just had you sign that to make sure you were aware we have the file on you. If that's a problem, I can give you the file, and you can be on your way.

Just like that. Take it or leave it, he said, looking her in the eye. She didn't smile.

Just like that.

Can I see my file? he asked.

If you accept the job, and things work out, say in a couple months, sure. Do you want the job, or should I put these other papers away?

Um, it's not a problem. It's just weird is all.

We like to be very thorough.

Yeah, you said that.

She put the form into a folder and put it into a file cabinet under the desk. Your last programming job. You used four different programming languages. Why was that?

You know about that?

That was us. We hired you for that job. Part of the deep background check. Why four different languages?

Well, it's complicated.

It didn't seem that complicated to me. I read the code.

You read my code? His picture of her as a receptionist began to fade.

Of course. I refactored it a bit, you tend to use longer methods than I like, and to use single letter variable names. I made them more descriptive to make reading easier. And I got rid of the global variables. But what I saw was nice and tight, which was impressive given the time constraints.

I didn't know it was a test.

That's the point. We like to see how you perform in real-life. And we don't make people work without paying them, paying them well. So why four languages?

Um, well, for the browser code there aren't a lot of choices.

I'll grant you that. But the server side could have been done in the same language.

I prefer strongly typed languages when they are available.

But two of the server-side languages weren't.

They had libraries that did the job. I didn't want to have to write my own. And there wasn't time, anyway.

And the hardware end, where you built the protocol analyzer, yet another language.

I have a full toolset for that. I can code, simulate, and download, all from the same interface.

That's what Max thought. When he saw which chip you chose to use.

Max?

He owns the company. Max Vanderweille. You'll meet him tomorrow. He'll probably give you another test. But don't worry, he's a pussycat. Just don't mention his wife.

His wife?

Just don't. Sensitive subject. One more test, then we're done. Look straight at me and tell me who was in the room just after you walked in.

You were, Jason said hesitantly. And the girl.

What's her name?

Susie something. Shoot. Starts with a V. Wait a minute. He closed his eyes. Vosler.

Who else was in the room?

Um, Jason said, still with his eyes closed. Oh, the dog.

Name?

Sir Pantsalot.

Max calls him Sure Eatsalot. Who else?

Huh? he said, opening his eyes again, and looking up at her.

Who else was in the room just after you entered?

Oh. Duh, me of course.

Good. How many cameras are there? Don't look.

Four. One in each corner.

Seventeen. Those four are only for show. And by the way, your analyzer would only have found three of the others. I added code to find eight more, but the hardware isn't good enough to find the others. Unless Max has something else for you to do, that's what I'd put you to work on. You still want the job?

Yeah, sure.

You don't sound so sure.

No, I definitely want the job. This is just the strangest job interview I've ever had.

Wait until you talk to Max, Sadie said. She opened an envelope and pulled out three hundred-dollar bills. We pay people for their time, she said and slid them across the desk towards him. Sign here, she said, pushing another form across the desk. And good luck tomorrow.



Chapter Three

Max Vanderweille adjusted the headset and looked at the back of his head through the drone’s camera in the bed of the somewhat beat-up pickup truck. In this neighborhood, the truck blended in perfectly. The drone did not, but at least for now it was hiding in the bed of the truck, safely out of sight.

He took a breath, and then quickly pushed the throttle control to its limit, and the scene in the headset changed to blue sky. He looked down, and the camera on the drone looked down as well, showing the pickup truck a few hundred feet below. He set the drone to hover mode and panned the camera around by moving his head. The street below had few cars, and the houses showed little of the neglect that was visible at ground level.

He played with the controls in his lap, and the scene changed as the drone drifted over the houses to look down on the next block over. The house he was interested in came into view, and he zoomed the camera in. Four young men were sitting around a charcoal grill in the backyard, passing a cigarette from one to the next, each one dragging slowly on the joint. A case of beer was at their feet, and Max could count the empties from a hundred feet above.

He lifted the headset and selected a speed-dial number on his cell phone, then let the headset back down.

Yeah boss, came a voice on the phone.

Hey, Finn, he said. I’m flying the drone over the target. Can you pop out and give me a sound reading?

A what?

Go outside and tell me if you can hear the drone.

Front or back?

Back, of course. Stay out of sight.

Gotcha. Just a sec.

In the headset, Max watched the scene below. The foursome was still passing around the reefer. Then someone came out of the back door of the adjacent house and looked up, shading his eyes.

I don’t see anything, came the voice over the phone.

Can you hear anything though? Max asked.

Just traffic.

Stay there, Max said and moved the drone lower. How about now?

Nothing, Finn said. Oh, wait. I think I see it. Hard to tell, though.

Point at it, Max said.

The man below raised his arm. Max could see it was pointing at something else.

That’s probably just a jet. The drone is sky blue. If you can’t hear it, you probably can’t see it either.

Can’t hear shit over the traffic noise this close to the highway.

How are things going down there?

Just finishing up. This paint you got sucks.

Don’t put it on too thickly. The whole point is to be able to see through it. In the infrared at least.

How am I supposed to know if it’s too thick? Finn wanted to know.

Give me a minute and I’ll land this thing and give it a test.

Max put the phone down and felt for the controls. The scene in the headset wobbled for a moment as his hand touched the pitch control, but steadied again as he held the control unit in his lap. He moved the drone until the pickup truck was directly below, and descended slowly. After a while, he could hear the whirring of the propellers, and the soft bump as it landed in the back of the truck.

He removed the headset and picked up a laptop computer. With a few keystrokes, the computer showed the interior of a bare living room, in black and white. There was a smudge in the lower left corner of the image. He picked up the phone again.

You there?

Yeah boss.

Go into the living room.

The scene on the computer showed a slim well-muscled man in a sleeveless T-shirt walk into the room, holding a cellphone to his ear.

Give it one light stoke with a dry brush, Max said. There’s a drip or something right in the view.

A huge hand holding an equally huge paintbrush appeared on the screen and wiped away the smudge.

Perfect. Let me test the others.

Max touched keys on the computer and different rooms came into view, then three views of the outside of the building.

The rest look good, Max said.

We still gotta wait ‘til they leave? Finn asked.

Yes, please. I don’t want them thinking about the house next door. It’s going down tomorrow. We’re cutting it really close.

What if they’re there until late?

Then I’ll pay you overtime. Hazard pay. Whatever.

It’s just, there’s this girl, see, and...

If today is like other days, they’ll be gone before four o’clock in the afternoon. Once the reefer is gone, so are they.

I can call her, I guess.

Tell her you’re working undercover.

As a house painter.

Exactly.

You know, it was bad enough when she saw my gun. I think I’ll just hope these guys take off before five.

They will. They always do. Max ended the call and put the phone in his pocket, and the drone controls in the passenger seat and drove home.

Tomorrow was the big day.



Chapter Four

Jason walked into the room.

With the phone in one hand, Max Vanderweille used the other hand to motion his visitor to a seat.

Yes, I was just explaining to the other fellow, I have a rather large amount of blood to clean up, and I wanted to know the phone number of those crime-scene cleaning crews you gentlemen use to take care of matters like that. A professional at getting blood out of things. Carpets, drapes, a sofa, that kind of thing. Yes, just a little accident. But a lot of blood. Maybe a gallon. Maybe more. Quite a mess — you know, something you call a professional about. Just a little accident, nothing really. An officer? Certainly, send one by, I didn't know you provided that service. Does he do windows? The drapes weren't completely closed. Will the officer be armed? No, just curious. I like firearms, is all. Oh dear, I have another call, I'll have to put you on hold.

His finger tapped a button on the phone, and he put the device in its charging cradle on the desk. Now then, he said to Jason, Sadie said you had an excellent resume and some useful experience. I trust her completely, so I'm sure you're qualified, but I seem to have misplaced any papers she may have given me. What can you tell me about yourself?

The young man examined Max closely, looking for some clue in his face. Was that the test? he asked.

Test? asked the man behind the desk.

She said there would be a test.

Oh, certainly. Can't hire someone just off the street without a test. I'll think of something. One of my favorite pastimes, thinking of things. Do it quite a lot. My business here, you know. Mostly thinking.

I mean the phone call.

To the police? Just now?

Yes.

"No, not at all. Not sure what that would test. Or how I would grade it. Oh, I guess it was a test. I thought you meant a test for you. No, it was a test of the gadget I installed a few weeks back. Makes it look like a phone call I make here in my office comes from a different place altogether. Derelict house over on South Seventh. Big gun deal going on there today, local gang taking delivery from a dealer of stolen weapons. Lots of money changing hands, big truck full of small arms. You'll read about it in the paper tomorrow. Or do people your age read newspapers? I'm a little out of touch."

You set them up.

I suppose that's accurate.

And they're sending one officer.

That's what they said on the phone. But it's South Seventh. There will be a full SWAT team or nothing at all.

They might think it's a hoax.

They might. But SWAT isn't busy at the moment, and they've been watching that house for a while. Now, at least, they have a reason to knock on the door. They record those calls, you know. Probable cause.

What if you get caught making a call like that?

There's the thinking we're looking for. Good for you. Prank call to the police. Serious matter. How would you make sure you stayed out of jail?

Jason thought for a moment. "Use a voice disguiser. Call from a