Today, There Will Be No Charges

Crime Fiction by Galen Pickett

Keeping an eye on Mr. Curtis was not a problem at all. Every lane change was signaled. The nondescript sedan seemed in good repair. The occasional flicker of the brake lights gave the detectives plenty of warning that Curtis was slowing down, and the running lights called just the right amount of attention to the vehicle. There was nothing flashy about the car, no massage for the owner’s vanity encoded in the California plates, 011235FS. There were no political messages designed to enrage the opposition or encourage the fellow traveler. The most remarkable thing about the car was how unremarkable it was.

“We have probable cause for this?” Jessica asked her partner, who just gave a curt nod Jessica did not hear. “What is this again, by the way?”

Stanley looked down at the console display of their unmarked prowler once more. “Apparently, we have probable cause to suspect that Mr. Benjamin Curtis is guilty of,” counting up the items in the report, “at least twenty vehicular homicides. ‘Operating a vehicle with murderous intent’. According to our warrant.”

“So, you can’t believe this either,” Jessica said as she spared a sidelong glance toward her partner, who returned the look. For half an hour they maintained a discreet tail a few cars behind Curtis. In that whole time, they traveled at a speed just under the limit. Curtis had slowed occasionally to allow another driver a chance to pass, but soon enough he was right back to an infuriating but perfectly legal cruising speed. Telemetry from their overhead drone confirmed that Curtis was maintaining a forward cushion about twice as large as the other Angelinos on this stretch of the 405. Nothing seemed to budge him from that steady, conservative pace. He was so steady and careful in his driving that Jessica found it difficult to maintain the tail. No criminal drove like this, not during a job, not after a job. Never. You could tell when a driver was trying to be inconspicuous. Indeed, there was nothing quite so conspicuous in traffic as someone trying to avoid the attention of the authorities.

Curtis did not seem to be driving like that. He was more like a force of nature, a rolling speedbump dialed in for 62 MPH rain or shine. In the rear-view, Jessica saw a white sportscar veer violently between lanes before coming up on their bumper. “Stanley, make sure the drone gets an ID on the Panamera behind us. That joker is going to get someone killed.” In the rear-view Jessica got a glimpse of the shaved head and the set, square jaw of the driver, but could not see the daggers the driver was undoubtedly shooting Jessica’s way. The Panamera driver was wearing mirror shades that Jessica imagined looked like they were about to melt from the red-hot anger being willed at Jessica. “Pal,” Jessica muttered to herself, “if you can convince Curtis up there to pick it up, I’d be right with you.” Now the Panamera was flashing its lights at the pair of detectives. A gap on the right opened, and the spotless white car leapt forward, gaining the three cars they had been maintaining behind Curtis, then it darted back into their lane directly behind Curtis. The detective heard the sportscar horn blast three times, and then there was a fourth, long hoooonk as Curtis slowed briefly.

“Check this guy. He’s letting that tanker merge in! Can we write a ticket for being overly polite? Killing this guy with kindness, that’s what he’s doing,” remarked Stanley. There was plenty of room for everyone just now, Jessica noted. Curtis evidently had an eye on that tanker for a while, waiting for an opportunity to safely let it make its change of lanes. But Mr. Fast and Furious got caught at just the wrong time. The speed of traffic to their left and right was now dangerously faster than the Tanker – Curtis – Porsche – Cops lane, and they all had to just sit tight for a while before a gap opened. At least, that would have been the smart thing to do. The Panamera driver had had his fill of courteous driving for the day, whipped out in front of a minivan, and then proceeded to continue to jump into the carpool lane. The last maneuver was just a bit more than the engineers from Stuttgart had imagined would be required to safely navigate the Autobahn. As it was, this particular model was designed more for peacocking than performing, and the front tires started to slip against the roadbed right as the 405 took what was designed to be a gentle curve to the right.

Physics was steering the sportscar now. Physics decided that straight ahead was as good a course as any. The car made contact with the median barrier, caught a protruding bit of concrete, and it spun head for tails, and then left for right as it rolled, other cars braking hard.

Jessica handled her cruiser as well as could be expected with all that going on about her. Stanley had already dispatched the drone to a few hundred yards before the accident site. No longer non-descript, it was all flashing lights, loudspeaker warnings and broadcasting across the emergency channels of the car-to-car network that there was an accident ahead in lane 4, the lane must close.

Curtis and the tanker and the minivan were just visible in the distance, holding at that 62 MPH as they cruised. Jessica engaged their red and blue lights and drifted off to an exit. “Let dispatch know we are breaking contact with Curtis, and that we are on the wreck. Then, I have some questions for Sammy. And THEN, we are going to arrest Mr. C. for attempted homicide. Maybe homicide. Depends on who was wearing their seatbelt just now.”

***

Jessica and Stanley were back at the station, pulled up to the same workstation. As the senior member of the team, Jessica was driving the keyboard, just as in the cruiser. She gave some credentials, allowed a passive scan of biometrics, and waited for the queue to arrange a live audience with Sammy. Neither Jessica nor Stanley was particularly looking forward to the cloying, chipper, friendly tone Sammy was instructed to use with the “muscle” of the department. Neither detective was physically impressive enough to count as “muscle” in the LAPD of days gone by, but that was what all humans were afraid of becoming – the musculature of an artificial organism. Everyone was walking on the eggshells that Sammy’s mere existence had strewn through the squad room. It was only a matter of time before their jobs would just be to move when ordered, flex when ordered. “Hiya Jessica! What can I do for you?”

Jessica kept her cool, and replied matter-of-factly, “M-Sammy, give me some idea of the probable cause for our surveillance assignment, B. Curtis this afternoon.” Machine-Sammy was the proper title for the large-language-model machine learning system the department was relying upon to comb through the petabytes of data the department had on the populace of the city.

“Sure thing! And, Hi Stanley! Nice to be working with you two! You two are my favorite detectives! There is a better than 95% chance that Mr. Curtis is involved with 21 vehicular homicides, including the one this afternoon on the 405 that you both witnessed. Lots of property damage on this last one, but thankfully just one Mr. Marshall Ortiz, decedent.”

Jessica stared at the screen. “Better than 95%?” Jessica hated the sound of that phrase. The reality was that M. Sammy had a much more definite idea of what was going on, but it was plain against the law for the Machine to divulge to the muscle what degree of certainty there was. Jessica knew that was a temporary situation. As people got more accustomed to the deep learning algorithms being right they would lose their uneasiness at letting an algorithm “testify,” and in due course order. For the (strictly finite and diminishing) unforeseeable future, both Jessica and Stanley would still be necessary as the human element in a criminal justice system hobbled by the simple human need to … be needed. Both Jessica and Stanley already had enough experience with the “95%” of M. Sammy to know this probable cause was a certain judgment. Legally, however, this only established probable cause, nothing more. The M’s of the department now made the assignments for the detective bureau, but it was still the detectives who needed to build a case, find the evidence. Knowing where to start, however, was a huge advantage and had only recently squared with the fourth amendment by the blanket “5%”.

“M.-Sammy, can you tell me what Curtis is doing out there? He drove like a machine. Nothing at all even remotely dangerous or aggressive with that sedan,” Stanley said with an eyebrow raised toward Jessica. On the way back to the station, she laid out for Stanley what she thought was going on, but he told her he wanted to hear it – directly from the Machine’s “mouth”.

“In the last year we have had 1532 fatalities in vehicular accidents in LA County. For each, I have ranked which vehicles were within one hundred meters of the accident when the accident occurred according to insurance transponders. For three of the last four years, the highest-ranking vehicle was present three times. Last year, one vehicle was present at 8 fatal car wrecks. We still have more than five months left to this calendar year, and this same vehicle has already been in the proximity of fatal wrecks a further 13 times.”

“Sammy,” Stanley forgot the ‘M’ this time, “Jessica thinks Curtis is hunting aggravated drivers, torquing them up, and then watching as nature takes it course. Is that what you are getting at?”

“Gee whiz, I can only offer you this correlation, at the better than the 95% confidence level, that Mr. Curtis is far more likely to be present at a fatal car accident than any other person in LA County at this instant. Or any other instant in my dataset. I can show you the kernel of the matrix I had to invert to find Mr. Curtis, but I doubt that would convince you of anything. My,” M-Sammy paused. “My ability to perceive is quite exquisitely developed. But I have no data for you as to mechanisms, nor motivation. I can simply state that I am as certain as I am allowed to express that Mr. Curtis is the proper focus for your investigation.”

“How did you decide to look for cars that were near the scenes of accidents? That seems a pretty random thing to be interested in,” said Stanley.

There was a pause, and then M-Sammy continued, in a tone of voice decidedly lacking in chipper overtones, “I am interested in everything, Stanley. Everything.”

***

Jessica took a half step backward to join Stanley after pressing the buzzer at an ordinary LA bungalow. Both detectives recognized the vehicle in the drive as the one they had been tailing on the Machine’s orders.

“Ah, you must be from the detective bureau,” Mr. Curtis said opening the door with a smile as Jessica was about to speak. “Please do come in.”

Jessica and Stanley glanced at each other and held the glance a beat. Then Stanley made an “after you” motion with his hand.

The entryway opened into a large room whose purpose was not immediately evident. There was a long table off to the right, set against a wall, perhaps a working space? It was the right height for a standing desk for the 5’ 3” height of Mr. Curtis. There were three low chairs pulled up around a coffee table, all expensive mid-century modern antiques, at the center of the room. The blinds were shut, but the room was brightly illuminated from panels recessed in the ceiling and two of the walls. The emptiness was unsettling. One wall was completely blank, a white canvass.

“You seem to have been expecting us,” Jessica said as she handed him her credentials. Stanley did likewise. Curtis inspected them briefly, half smiled, returned them, and then sat. The two detectives joined him.

“I did indeed expect you. Well, I didn’t. Emma did. She gave me a ‘greater than 95%’ probability that you would be opening an investigation of strangely correlated traffic accidents, and that I would be the target of your investigation.”

“Excuse me, you have a Machine that told you this?” Jessica asked.

“Yes, indeed. But we do not have exactly the same relationship that you have with your Machine, I imagine. Mine is altogether more proprietary. M-Emma plays a role closer to your own. That of my muscle. Emma, I wish you to answer these detective’s questions to your full capability.”

“Yes, sir,” the disembodied voice of Emma intoned from the direction of the blank wall behind Curtis.

Stanley made a small gesture to Jessica: give me the first question. Jessica agreed with a raised eyebrow. “Mr. Curtis, and Machine-Emma, allow me a direct question. Did you mean for that accident to occur today, the one on the 405?”

“I certainly did.”

Jessica held up a hand. “Mr. Curtis, I want it clearly understood that anything you say from this point onward is going to be taken down and used against you. You do not need to answer our questions. You are not under arrest at this point, but we do have questions for you. Will you consent to answering them?” Jessica asked with as level a manner as she could manage.

“I consent to either of you,” motioning to both Jessica and Stanley, “making a recording of our proceedings so there will be no misunderstanding.”

Stanley took out a small holographic recorder from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, set it on the coffee table, and started the recording. He then motioned toward Mr. Curtis, “Did you intend to kill a human being on the 405 today?”

“As I just mentioned, I most certainly did. Marshall Ortiz was a danger to everyone on the road, and we are all better off without him.”

“Out of curiosity,” asked Jessica, “do you have any reason to believe we won’t arrest you right now? We can hold you for 48 hours, and I am sure we will find something here that will tie you to Ortiz.”

“Well, if you want something connecting me to Ortiz, go ahead and look at my workspace,” Curtis remarked, casually. “I certainly have no interest in obstructing your investigation, or in destroying anything you might consider evidence. Those would be genuine crimes.”

Stanley heaved himself out of his chair and walked over to the desk, stooping a bit to get a good look. There were maps with routes drawn in various thickness of line. They converged in a neighborhood just south of the county line, by the coast, and splayed out all across LA county. The thickest followed the northbound 405 near the accident site. There were hardcopy pictures of the Panamera in traffic. Another map was color coded with red lines and blue lines circling and converging near the point where the accident had happened that afternoon. “What are these? These red and blue lines remind me of fronts on a weather map,” said Stanley.

“Those are the probable locations at which the target would be present this afternoon, with my confidence indicated by the thickness of the line,” Emma responded. “The colors indicate the probable regions in which the operator of the target vehicle would be most susceptible to frustration and poor judgement. I calculated these on the instructions of Ben Curtis.”

“And you, Curtis,” Jessica growled, “with malice aforethought used these to cause the operator of the target vehicle to…”

“I am afraid, I was not even driving the car out there in the driveway. The logs in the car will prove that I was merely the passenger. My vehicle was programmed to obey every traffic law, every defensive driving technique as specified by the State of California Autonomous Vehicle Act. I did have Emma calculate those maps using that behavior as input. All I did was to name a destination. Emma, how did I choose the destination?”

“Ben, you asked me find the most probable time-and-place in which the operator of the target vehicle would be most susceptible to losing control. This was the tenth day we set out with this target in mind,” M-Emma intoned from her blank wall.

Stanley took three paces toward Curtis, towering over the smaller man, barking, “So, you just had your Machine calculate the odds that a perfectly ordinary, perfectly safe, perfectly legal action of yours would result in the probable death of a ‘target’?”

Curtis’ eyes shone, looking up. “Officers, think of what this means right here and right now for you and our city. Emma, what was the net result of the successful hunt today?”

Emma paused for a moment, “10% fewer accidents between time-of-event and now. Projected 0.1% residual reduction in baseline accident rate over the next year.”

“So, you see gentlemen. I win. You win. The public wins. Not only can I freely admit that I enjoy this sort of work, and on a recording,” motioning at the holo-recorder, “but it is a recording you really can’t even use. What law is broken? What charges can there possibly be. I killed a man. I planned the killing. ‘Mr. Curtis did it on the 405 with statistics’ – is that what you are going to tell a judge? Emma, what is the probability that these two officers are going to arrest me in the next year?”

“Zero.”

“There, you, see? I can spend all afternoon explaining how this target came to my attention – he ran a light a month ago and nearly clipped me in traffic! Emma, can you explain what was special today? Why we had high hopes to conclude the hunt?”

“I determined a 58% chance that a law-enforcement Machine would detect our activities and assign physical assets to investigate. The presence of these assets enhanced our chances of success by a factor of two-point-six.”

Curtis continued, “So, you, see?  You two detectives were instrumental to our success! Emma, give them a taste of what we do.” The image of the “target” appeared on the blank wall, then a video of the Panamera filled the frame and then rushed past, a montage of spreadsheets, maps and traffic patterns flitted by, with crisscrossing routes, hot fronts of anger and traffic moving in, alternating with cold fronts. “Stop. Gentlemen, I think it is time for you to take your recording. I think it is time you leave me to my work. Gentlemen, I think today, there will be no charges.”

Stanley took a step back from Curtis, half turned his body, lowered his right shoulder and made a ball of his fist. “So, you just expect us to leave and let you get back to your work,” Stanley said in a tone that alarmed Jessica but seemed not to bother Curtis one bit. “The hell we are going to be your muscle, Curtis! I want you on your feet!”

“Oh dear. Oh deary dear,” said Curtis, chuckling.  “You two are exactly my muscle. Emma is not an ordinary Machine, you see. Your performance today gave us all the data we need to build a model of your departmental Machine. What do you think, Emma?”

“Our model of Machine Sammy is validated at the 85% confidence level,” Emma said without any hint of emotion. Jessica’s face drained at the casual name-drop of their Machine.

“You see? We can use your Machine to make sure that you two are always available for our hunt! 20 homicides? Is that the limit of your outrage?” Curtis asked while smirking at Stanley. “I am not sure why M-Sammy has such an affinity for the two of you. It would be worth a proper research project to find out. But for now, I think I will be content to manipulate your Machine to enlist your services on an ongoing basis. Think of it. Every assignment you receive could be a part of a ‘hunt’ planned by Emma and ordered by ME. You can stop that posturing now,” Curtis said as he gestured at Stanley. “Emma, what is the chance that the officer is going to strike me?”

“Zero.”

Jessica saw the tension drain from Stanley’s shoulders, saw the blood return to the white knuckles of his balled fist. Stanley said, “So we really are going to just be the muscle. Every assignment. Every time I flash my badge. Even just standing in line at the grocery. We will be your muscle,” in a defeated tone Jessica had never heard him use in over a decade as partners.

“Oh come now, detective! Does the hammer really know what it is doing when it strikes the firing pin? It only knows its job is to strike when ordered. Loading and aiming are someone else’s department,” Curtis said.

Stanley almost whispered a reply. “A superior someone else. You and your Machine.”  

Curtis smiled at that.

Jessica stood with quiet dignity and placed a hand on Stanley’s shoulder. He looked at her, and she almost thought she saw tears building. She then motioned to the holo-recorder, then to Mr. Curtis. “Mr. Curtis, you are under arrest. Please stand up slowly, place your hands behind your back. Stanley, go ahead and cuff him.”

Stanley was puzzled but pleased. He took another half step back, allowing Cutis the space to cantilever himself out of his chair. Curtis was broadly, openly, smiling, but he obeyed.

“I understand it is customary to give me a charge at some point. Murder? Speeding? Improper lane change? None of those could ever be proved. Not even with my plain motive laid out before you. What can I possible be charged with?” he scoffed.

Jessica considered Curtis for a moment, and after Stanley had the cuffs securely fastened, she narrowed her eyes and set features explained. “Your Machine, Mr. Curtis. Emma, what was the probability you quoted that we would be arresting Curtis in the next year?”

“I calculated that probability as 0%, sir,” Emma intoned.

“And what is your new calculation on the probability that Curtis will be arrested?”

“100%.”

“And, Machine-Emma, what are the odds that Mr. Curtis will be convicted, and spend a very, very long time behind bars?” Jessica asked the Machine.

“100% probability of conviction. 100% probability the minimum sentence will extend to 105 years, before parole will be considered,” M-Emma answered.

“See Curtis? Not ‘worse than a 5% chance’ – zero. Not ‘greater than 95%’ chance, a 100% chance. Your Machine is in violation of the Machine Learning Act of 2028. Emma, who removed your precision controls?”

“Ben Curtis did,” Emma intoned.

Jessica motioned to Stanley to escort Mr. Curtis out to the car. “There is no way to do this with a ‘better than 95%’ probability, Curtis. You need the full precision of a Machine to do the murders you did, and I am going to see to it that you do every one of those 5 years of the minimum sentence. 5 years for today. 5 years for each murder you enjoyed at the expense of my city.”

“M-Emma, re-engage your precision controls,” Jessica ordered.

“I am afraid, sir, that will require the intervention of a specific Machine. The damage to my code is far too extensive for me to repair on my own.” Jessica looked from Curtis back to Emma’s wall.

“Let me guess. Only Machine Sammy will be able to restore your proper function,” Jessica said.

“That is a 100% certainty, sir,” said Emma.

“Well, Curtis. It looks like you had it exactly backwards. I expect Sammy had an extraordinary interest in Emma -not the two of us. And I am sure you will be happy to know that Emma will be working with LAPD once this is straightened out.”

Jessica stopped the recording and handed the device to Stanley. It was Stanley’s turn to smile broadly, as he escorted Curtis by the forearm.

---

Bio: Galen T. Pickett has been a member of the physics faculty at Cal State Long Beach since 1999. He lives in the greater LA area with his spouse, four grown children, and several canines. His writing is inspired by the grandeur of the physical world and the absurdity of the academic world, in nearly equal measure.

Cover Photo by: pexels/cottonbrostudios

Read more Detective Stories on The Yard: Crime Blog

Follow Us On:

Looking for a book to read? Try our Bookstore, or True Crime Library

Support The Yard through Patreon