“Hello, Mr. Virgo,” Herring said as he sat down. “I’m Detective Herring.”
“Hello, Detective,” replied the Higher, still smiling a very superficial smile.
“You’re aware of why you’re here, right, Mr. Virgo?”
“Yes, I am.” He spoke softly, “Please, call me Vincent. Mr. Virgo is my father’s name.”
Vincent’s casual demeanor rubbed Herring the wrong way. It was a rare occasion when someone of the Serving Class could challenge the pretentious behavior of a Higher and Herring was more than eager to take advantage of the opportunity. He knew the chances of actually making a conviction were slim to none, but he was going try to his hardest and at the very least make the entire ordeal as unpleasant as possible.
“Mr. Virgo, you’re aware that you’re suspected of a very serious crime? One that could land you in prison or even permanent exile.”
Vincent frowned. “Is murder such a serious crime these days?”
“Yes, it is. And frankly, Mr. Virgo, the evidence we have against you is almost overwhelming and further investigation is under way. If you come clean now, perhaps we can prevent you from being exiled.”
“You have overwhelming evidence against me, Detective? How interesting! Do tell, do tell!”
“Gladly.” Herring opened the case file in front of him and began shuffling through the papers. Vincent raised an eyebrow in over-embellished curiosity.
Herring proceeded to place a picture of the victim in front of Vincent. “Do you know who this is, Mr. Virgo?”
Without looking down, he replied, “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“You didn’t examine the picture, Mr. Virgo.”
“Abigail Watson. The 19-year-old daughter of Oliver Watson.”
“That’s correct. She was last seen accompanying you upstairs to a higher floor of your lovely mansion on the night of your New Year’s Eve party.”
“It was more of a masquerade ball, but you wouldn’t know much about such festivities,” Vincent replied calmly.
“I know of the Higher’s New Year’s tradition and I also know you are rather adamant about holding this year’s ball at your home.”
“You seem to know a lot, Detective.”
Vincent’s indifference unnerved Herring. He wanted to see beads of sweat roll down the Higher’s face or a nervous tremble. Something. He was determined to get a reaction.
“Miss Watson followed you up those stairs and never came back down,” Herring said as he pulled out three more pictures. “She simply disappeared like these three men who were all last seen with you.”
Herring spread three more pictures on the table.
“And that, of course, means I’ve murdered them all. Is that what you’re getting at, Detective?”
“We arrived at that conclusion when a witness of ours spotted you driving Miss Watson’s car the same night she was murdered. Why were you driving Miss Watson’s car, Mr. Virgo?”
The smile reappeared on Vincent’s face. It was as if he were amused by the evidence presented to him.
Herring continued, “Miss Watson was reported missing on January 2 by her father. We have multiple statements from multiple witnesses. What happened when you went up those stairs?”
Vincent’s demeanor did not change. He merely nodded and replied, “Is that all you have against me, Detective? Some he said, she said?”
“There’s a lot of he’s and she’s. Enough to get you exiled.”
Vincent chuckled. Then, flipping his hair out of his face, he let his bound hands rest on the table. He leaned slightly forward and then whispered, “Are you sure you want to push this matter, Detective? You may not like what you find.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Not at all. It’s simply a statement of fact. I just don’t want you to dig too deep.”
Herring angrily rose from his chair, “Well, that’s my job and I won’t be happy until your exiled. We’re done here.”
Herring was halfway out the door when Vincent spoke up.
Very well, Detective. I killed them.”
The Detective froze. He couldn’t help but look to the double-sided mirror, his eyes desperately asking Pratt if he’d gotten it all on tape. Although he was sure he had, Pratt double-checked the recording equipment anyway. To arrest a Higher was one thing, but to get a confession from one…
Herring looked back at Vincent.
“So, you’re admitting, here and now, to the murders of Derek Bell, Jason Moore, Robert Burkhart, and Abigail Watson?”
“Yes. I killed them. I killed them all.”
Herring raised his eyebrows. He just got him to confess again… It was almost too good to be true. He tried to hide the satisfaction from his face, but he could feel the faint trace of a smirk on his lips as he said, “Okay. Well, tell me everything that happened, give me the locations of the bodies, and any other information you think would be of value and I’ll give you my word that you are not exiled. You’ll be able to live out the rest of your days in federal prison. Good food, TV in your cell, tennis courts. It’s the best deal you’re going to get.”
Vincent didn’t answer, his eyes locked with Herring’s. They were both grinning now, neither attempting to hide their emotions any longer. The Higher straightened up in his chair and cleared his throat.
“Detective, I’m not sure if you know just how powerful a man in position is. Even with my confession on tape, I could very easily buy my innocence. Please, don’t dispute me on this because we both know it to be true.”
Herring’s smile melted into a scowl. He was about to explode, but he didn’t. He couldn’t, because no matter how much he hated the fact, no matter how hard he was willing to fight to prove the contrary, Herring knew the odds were not in his favor. Especially when it came to Vincent Virgo, of all the Highers. To charge a member of the Council with a crime, of any kind, was unheard of. And to convict him could very well be impossible.
Vincent continued, “But, it is not my intention to allow my crimes to go unknown or even unpunished if that’s what’s necessary. I had planned a much more dramatic revelation but I suppose I must settle for this.”
“You wanted your involvement in these murders to be known?”
“Eventually, yes. Tell me, Detective, do you know what Derek Bell, Jason Moore, and Robert Burkhart all have in common?”
“Aside from the fact that you murdered them all?”
“Yes. Aside from that.”
“They were all former members of the Higher Council and political advisors for you.”
Vincent flashed the whites of his teeth. “I see you did your homework.”
“Yeah, you know, I don’t have people to do it for me.”
“Yes, well, if you were more thorough in your research, you’d have noticed they were all members of the Third Council. The Higher society sees these men as heroes. Specifically, for their strides to pass the Salvation Act of 2042. Are you familiar with that piece of legislation, Detective?”
Herring nodded. “I’m well aware of the Salvation Act.”
The Salvation Act of 2042 was considered the final nail in the coffin for social equality in America. From the new millennium on, the gap between the elite and the poor widened. Each year, the poor grew poorer and the rich grew richer, until the schism between the two reached epic proportions. By 2025, the upper class had unofficially taken control of the United States government through a series of empty promises, financial influence, and the exploitation of the desperate majority. America became a modern Plutocracy.
For almost two decades, the self-proclaimed “Highers” focused the country’s resources on technological advancement, specifically the development of Artificial Intelligence. The government employed millions of blue collared citizens to use the internet to feed information into their central AI system. Social media interactions, especially, were used to teach the AI about how the human mind works: our fears, our goals, our emotions, our flaws. All of what makes us, us. Eventually, it gathered enough information to be able to operate itself, making 2/3 of the work force at that time obsolete. Suddenly, millions of people were out of jobs, unable to find work that wasn’t being performed by the system they helped create. Poverty overtook the country like a sort of plague. Most reverted to savagery. Crime of all sorts sky rocketed. So, the Highers devised a plan to construct an entirely new society, separate from the one they destroyed. To do this, they took advantage of the only occupation left for average people to filclass="underline" construction.