Murder in the Tool Library

Copyright 2023 A.E. Marling

Published by A.E. Marling at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter One: twenty-seven seconds

Chapter Two: one minute, twelve seconds

Chapter Three: three minutes, twenty seconds

Chapter Four: fourteen minutes, fifty-five seconds

Chapter Five: twenty-eight minutes, nine seconds

Chapter Six: thirty-three minutes, forty seconds

Chapter Seven: thirty-five minutes, fifty-eight seconds

Chapter Eight: forty-five minutes, four seconds

Chapter Nine: six hours, ten minutes

Chapter Ten: eleven hours, thirty-nine minutes

Chapter Eleven: one day, six hours

Chapter Twelve: one day, seven hours

Chapter Thirteen: one day, nine hours

Chapter Fourteen: two days, two hours

Chapter Fifteen: two days, six hours

Chapter Sixteen: three days, five hours

Chapter Seventeen: three days, seven hours

Chapter Eighteen: three days, twenty hours, eleven minutes

Chapter Nineteen: three days, twenty hours, eighteen minutes

Chapter Twenty: four days, three hours, seven minutes

Chapter Twenty-One: four days, five hours, thirty minutes

Chapter Twenty-Two: four days, seventeen hours

Chapter Twenty-Three: five days, two hours

Chapter Twenty-Four: five days, six hours, forty-three minutes

Chapter Twenty-Five: five days, eight hours, thirteen minutes

Chapter Twenty-Six: five days, nine hours, twenty-one minutes

Chapter Twenty-Seven: five days, nine hours, thirty-five minutes

Chapter Twenty-Eight: five days, ten hours, three minutes

Chapter Twenty-Nine: five days, ten hours, fifty-eight minutes

Chapter Thirty: six days, twenty-one hours, thirty minutes

Chapter Thirty-One: seven days, forty-seven minutes

Chapter Thirty-Two: eight days, two hours, twenty-three minutes

Chapter Thirty-Three: eight days, eighteen hours, thirty-seven minutes

Chapter Thirty-Four: nine days, six hours, four minutes

Chapter Thirty-Five: nine days, seven hours, thirty-one minutes

Chapter Thirty-Six: twelve days, twenty-three hours, fifty-eight minutes

The End

What is Solarpunk?

About the Author

Publishing Team

What is Solarpunk?

Solarpunk as a genre is the antidote to apocalyptic science fiction. The “solar” refers to renewable energy and bright futures. The “punk” is defiance in the face of despair. When you live in the dystopia of late-stage capitalism, nothing is more radical than kindness and hope. Solarpunk as a movement takes steps toward a society of shared abundance.

Join the community.

To be clear, cryptocurrency is solarpunk’s antithesis. You can fuck right off with that world-burning Ponzi scheme.

About the Author

A.E. Marling has written on pages, cards, and buildings. A member of Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, A.E. published several novels and wrote names and flavor text for Magic: the Gathering. The author also shines words in light on buildings as a projection activist.

Instagram: @AEMarling

TikTok: @AEMarling

Discover the author on Goodreads and Reddit.

Publishing takes a team.

Illustrator: Rita Fei

Editor: Allie Boman

Copy Editor: Athena Pajer

Graphic Designer: BeyondImagination

And a big thank you to my sensitivity and beta readers.

thanks for the encouragement,

Andrew

twenty-seven seconds

Even burdened by armfuls of freshly sharpened shears, Librarian Jose Larsen walked with a strut. How could he not? The menagerie of saws filled him with pride. Thanks to his polishing, he could see his reflection in the shelved handsaws. Each hacksaw blade he had replaced. He had dovetail saws like cleavers, double-edged wallboards like daggers, and keyhole saws like long-billed beaks. Ripsaws to carve along the woodgrain, and crosscutters to go the other way. His favorite, the sharp-toothed saw, sparkled with a beautiful blade.

The librarian grinned and looked down the aisles. No one was admiring his handiwork. One lone person stuffed boots into a bag, walking away in their socks.

“Hey,” Larsen said. “Shoes required in the tool library.”

They replied by pulling out a pair of sneakers and kneeling.

Larsen nodded and kept moving. Nothing felt better than walking through the hammer section with each one in its proper place. Why, there were the blacksmith hammers, framing hammers, tack, and claw. The half-hatchets hung beside the drywall hatchets. The engineer hammers he liked less, but he did his best not to speak ill of any tool. Beyond racks of ball peens and dead-blow mallets, his eyes caught on a sledgehammer.

Its wooden handle was splattered with red paint. Its metal maul dripped.

Larsen frowned. Either a volunteer had reshelved a dirty tool, or its last patron had failed to drop it in the bin for returns. He would have to deal with the problem as soon as he got these shears back to where they belonged.

He flinched back at a reek, a stench like rusty nails but stronger than anything and even more disturbing. Wrongness pummeled his guts.

Splash! He had stepped in something crimson. Slipping, he fought for balance while his insides spun with chartreuse nausea. The shears in his arms pulled him forward, tipping him over a spreading lake of red. Had someone spilled a full paint can?

No, that wasn’t paint.

Larsen recoiled. His feet slid out from under him. A weight of iron bore him down. Darkness clamped, yanking him back and distant, away and below. As he plunged toward unconsciousness, he glimpsed another figure slumped between the library shelves.

The body seemed headless.

The last thing Larsen heard was a clatter of shears.

one minute, twelve seconds

A localized alert chimed on Hua’s watch. The medic shoved on her helmet and swung onto the motorcycle. She kicked out the charging cable. As soon as her partner hopped on behind, Hua hit the siren.

Red and gold lights flashed over the street. Quieter than the pealing, the bike’s motor purred. Hua and Zephyrine launched forward, between two cyclists, toward the source of the automated distress signal.

“Looks like a blood pressure drop near the tool library,” Zephyrine said, through comms in their helmets.

Hua turned with a whirring of wheels, she and Zephyrine leaning in high-five-worthy harmony. Ahead of them, people dashed to the sides of the street, cyclists rolled to a stop, and a skater looped around to watch as the motorcycle sped by. Hua said, “Wait, is it Librarian Larsen again?”

“Yes. He’s the big fainter?”

“Sure is. No one drops faster at the sight of blood than—uh oh!” A ringing from her watch warned of a different call. Now they would have to decide which was more urgent and maybe ping a team further away. She eased up on the throttle.

Zephyrine was receiving it too, and she answered, “What’s your emergency?”

“It’s bad, I think. Really bad.” The woman’s voice came over the line shrill. “Tool library. Hurry!”

Two calls then for the same thing. Hua had already accelerated, Zephyrine’s arms tightening around her waist. Medic Hua flipped a switch on the bike and blasted out a local alert of her own.

A chorus of devices sounded off. The streets cleared even faster. She saw some people flinch as their ear implants rang out. Around a corner, she sighted the tool library, nothing between them but open road.

Medic Hua pictured someone cutting a finger on a saw blade and Librarian Larsen taking a dive. That was the usual. This sounded like anything but.

“Nearest ambulance is three minutes away,” Zephyrine said. “It’s all you.”

Hua pushed the throttle to full. As they zoomed forward, her worries fell behind. Adrenaline sang out from her beating heart. Smiling, she asked, “Ready?”

Before her partner could reply, they raced up a ramp and onto the library’s sidewalk. Hua began braking. Tires squealing, they slid sideways into the entrance. They were here, arrived and inside within ninety-two seconds. She dropped the kickstand.

Zephyrine shoved off. “Everyone, listen. I need your attention.”

Her voice was so powerful it sounded amplified. It filled the library. A boy turned to her and away from a pool of blood. Two more bystanders peeked out from an aisle. Zephyrine motioned them all to follow.

Hua left the bike with lights flashing in the doorway as a temporary blockade. Hopefully that would keep people outside while she stabilized this emergency. Her body felt electrified. She dashed toward the blood. It leaked from one man with his head demolished. Nothing she could do for him. Grey matter and skull shards littered the widening circle of red.

On the far side lay the bulk of Librarian Larsen, sprawled with a clutter of cutting tools, shears with long blades. Had he sliced himself falling? Some of the blood could be his.

She took two steps to leap over the pool. Imagining herself coming short and landing in a bloody slip ‘n’ slide only to crash into a shelf of chisels, she pivoted, running the long way around, past stacks of scrapers, in front of the circulation desk.

Zephyrine had gathered the bystanders around her. “Now take five long breaths with me.”

Realizing she had been holding hers, Hua gasped. She had reached the fallen librarian. His eyes were open, staring straight up at nothing. His open collar revealed part of a biometric tattoo. That’s what had sounded the first alert. She linked her medic ID to it, and his vitals populated above him in cyberspace: heart rate monitor and a graph of inhalation volume.

“At least you’re remembering to breathe.” She pushed a pair of clippers off his neck and tapped a scrape above his jugular. “You came close to cutting your own throat. Can you hear me, Jose?”

The big man groaned.

“How many shears were you carrying?” She shoved a few more aside. “No deep cuts on your arms or sides.”

Jose began to blink. “W-Where am I?”

“You’re lying still. Can you focus on me?”

He could.

Hua felt around his head. “Does anything in here hurt?”

“I don’t think so?”

“Hmmm,” she said. “You’re lucky this floor is made from fungi-rubber. Soft as a playground mat.”

It reminded her of the black of asphalt. Similar to the road, blood here wasn’t as stark. On white tile or sidewalk, the color really popped.

The librarian began to lift his head. “What happened?”

“No, don’t get up.” Hua pushed down on his chest.

He brushed her aside and half-stood. His eyes bulged.

“Oh shit!” She tried to lever him down but couldn’t budge him.

Until he toppled, limp. Again.

She managed to get her hands under his neck and head before he impacted.

Zephyrine’s voice rang out. “Need help, Hua?”

“Not for a few minutes. He’s taking another nap.” She tugged some shears out from under him.

Her fingers were steady despite her adrenaline buzz. She tapped a command on her watch to cancel the ambulance. No good them flying all this way, not yet.

Unless this had all been an accident. She stared across the blood at the corpse. Nope, not likely that this man had fallen backward on a hammer over and over.

She grimaced, knowing she would have to escalate the incident to the CDS. They would love this. Those busybodies would flock here like scavenger crows. Then again, she supposed that’s what was called for, after a murder.

Sliding a finger across her watch, she selected an icon with the CDS’s ostentatious crest: a magnifying glass, a pair of footprints, a balanced scale, and an eye. The screen lit up, and she read the prompt.

<<Do you suspect there has been a crime?

She flicked the button for Affirmative.

<<Did you witness the crime or have physical evidence?

“Yes, dammit!”

<<Connecting you with the nearest detective….

three minutes, twenty seconds

As soon as Detective Taino Azan accepted the video call, they could tell the woman was trouble. She wore a red motorcycle suit, emblazoned with the heart symbol of a medic. Her hair stuck out in a black tempest, gusting around a face sharpened by impatience.

“Get your butt and that silly hat to the tool library,” she said.

Taino adjusted their neon-green fedora. “Let’s start with your description of the crime.”

“Is this criminal enough for you?” Her camera view, which had been pointed up toward her nostrils, careened around. It settled on what appeared to be a corpse, uncorked and with all the blood poured out.

Taino made a startled sound between a squeal and a hiccup. Someone had been whacked during the day, in a library stacked with witnesses? “Do you already have a suspect?”

“Isn’t that your job?” The video spun from pure crimson, to splattered ladders, to half the woman’s face, to a big man lying in the evidence.

“Wait, is that another victim?” Taino pulled themself up from their seat at the train station.

“No, that’s just Librarian Larsen,” she said. “Hey, Jose, don’t get up. I mean it, or I’ll concuss you myself.”

Taino found the tool library on the transit map and walked to the other side of the platform. A train was coming in. They glanced at the video feed, but the perspective swung about so much it gave them vertigo.

The woman shouted, “Tell him to stay down.”

“Um.” The train hissed to a stop, and Taino stepped in. “Please remain where—”

“Not you, ass,” she said.

Then another woman was speaking off screen. Taino’s stomach lurched as the train took off, while the camera view continued to spin like it was attached to a yo-yo. A sense of sick unreality spread through Taino, as if they had gorged themself on junk food.

This had to be a prank.

Yes, that’s what this was. The body had looked real enough, but many things could be faked over a video call. Soon enough this would all be uploaded and laughed at by thousands. Embarrassment steamed Taino beneath their hat. They wondered if it would have been better or worse if today they had worn their matching green trench coat.

And that woman, was she really a medic? They had noticed a patch on her shoulder with the symbol of a healing class from a popular multiplayer game. Taino considered the likelihood of a rapid-response professional spending their down time doing exactly the same thing.

“What is your name?”

“Hua,” she said. “Sima Hua. Are you coming or not?”

Good question.

They were pretty sure they knew who was behind this hoax. The woman seemed like she could be friends with Vittoria, whom Taino had the misfortune of beating at the last Society game night. From her modded eight-foot height, Vittoria had looked down at them like a gardener at a particularly gluttonous slug.

Taino’s instincts screamed at them to stay clear of this whole business, but they still had to go to the tool library. Failure to investigate such a potentially serious crime would merit dismissal from the Citizen Detective Society, which might be Vittoria’s real angle.

“I’m almost there,” Taino said and hung up.

While the train departed another station, they looked up Sima Hua. She did have licenses for emergency nursing and motorcycle driving. An actual street medic then, but was it also a true crime? Taino wasn’t about to underestimate Vittoria’s connections.

One more stop to go. Taino gazed out the window. From the Tall Tram, the city skyline stretched glittering and green. Powered by star fusion and electrified with enthusiasm, New Tollan aspired to something greater than existence. In the face of extinction, beauty in architecture was an act of defiance. People flourished. Violence was rare, though injury happened daily. The well-intentioned are dangerous enough, and malice still lives in paradise.

The train breezed to a stop, and Taino descended from the platform. The stairwell’s walls were colorful with algae murals depicting the Main Branch pyramid and other city landmarks. The art photosynthesized under glass, harvesting energy for local apartments.

Reaching the street, Taino began to run—but after a few steps they slowed to a walk. It would be even more humiliating to arrive short of breath to a crimeless scene.

The tool library stood out amidst the urban greenscape. Car-door panels repurposed into shingles covered its steepled roof, with hundreds of auto hoods overlapping along its walls, complete with branded ornaments. The scrap came from vehicles of different colors, resulting in a building scaled like a prismatic dragon.

People gathered at its entrance, quite possibly more of Vittoria’s friends waiting for the next act of the prank. Taino braced themself, ready for the crowd to turn around, laughing and filming. Their stomach clenched tight as a proverbial capitalist’s fist on a dollar.

Only, the crowd kept staring into the library. The interior flashed red and gold.

Taino grimaced as they pushed between the onlookers to get inside. “CDS, coming through.”

Someone asked, “What happened?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”

A rapid-response motorcycle leaned in the door with its circus lights on. The Library didn’t give those out on loan. The heat and huff in Taino froze into a cold certainty: they were passing the threshold of retribution Vittoria would inflict for losing a game night.

Things lay exactly as Taino had glimpsed in the video. There, Medic Hua stood over the librarian broad, his eyes open and bugged. There, the stiff.

Crap! This was no hoax.

“This way, Detective.” A siren voice coaxed Taino from the carnage and to the circulation desk. A woman in a yellow motorcycle suit looked like she was about to strut onstage and start a concert. Her digital name tag read Zephyrine. Beside this star were three dimmer figures. From the way the group and the woman stood together, Taino could tell none of them had recently lopped off a head.

“Over here.” Hua tracked bloody steps over the crime scene. “Hope it’s fine I wrapped the big man in a blanket. He was in shock.”

“Stop!” Taino lifted their hands. “No one move. And no witness statements until I start recording.”

The detective slapped the circuit tattooed into their left arm, and their retinal implant displayed an interface now floating ahead of them in empty space. Taino reached for it. Words shone in electric blue, moving along with Taino’s perspective.

<<Do you believe there has been a crime?”

Yes. Their cybernetics detected their hand motion and made the selection. The next prompt appeared.

<<Does the crime merit scrutiny by the Citizen Detective Society?

They glanced at the corpse, which looked like someone had been taken by surprise by a cannonball. Taino tapped Yes.

<<Would investigating this crime serve the public good?

Repetitive, and deliberately so, the questions gave Taino time to think. There was no coming back from here. The same could be said for the victim. Taino took a deep breath and flicked their fingers along a menu to the top tier: corruption, industrial pollution, sexual assault, and murder. They had never begun something this high priority and didn’t expect to again.

They opened the case.

<<New Murder Investigation

The alert flashed in the corner of their eye. A counter already showed that a hundred detectives had entered the empty subforum. By the time Taino had fumbled their hovercam out of their pocket, turned on the bot, and started the livestream, two thousand were watching.

“This is Taino Azan at the Lakewood Tool Library. The time is 2:37, Tuesday, May 22, 61.”

With a gesture, they flew the camera over the geographic feature of blood, to the corpse. Taino’s vision filled with comments. They only managed to read the last two.

<<MforMarcus: NSFL!

<<windlocke2013: By Zeus’s CPU!

Taino muted all but the most popular.

<<magnifierO_O: Pallor mortis hasn’t set in. ETD has to be less than fifteen minutes

“I received the call from RR-medic Sima Hua approximately ten minutes ago.” They began walking around the shelves toward Hua and the prone librarian.

The vidbot met them there, fluttering overhead. Hua scowled back at it, foot tapping wetly. She had every appearance of a woman of action forced to wait on you. The librarian below her blinked but otherwise looked dead. A foil blanket wrapped him like a burrito. Taino gripped one corner and peeled it open for a look.

<<155EOptimist: That’s not our man. No splatter on his face and chest.

Taino peered down, and yes, the librarian’s pants were stained but not his upper body. His hair was cut short as his stubble, with a dome head and column neck. He was marble pale.

They asked, “Librarian Larsen, did you witness the murder?”

He flinched up, eyes glazed with panic. His lips trembled, but his mouth stayed shut.

<<SunRoad: Backup en route.

<<HitchcockHeart: 155EOptimist made some assumptions about the murder weapon. Find it.

<<LoveLorn<3: Blood trail should be massive. Follow to killer.

<<Rodriguez27: No, wait for bb’s.

<<the_adVeecate: Secured emergency meeting with Library Council. I’ll need an ID on the victim in five minutes.

The last comment came from Vittoria. Taino took out a handkerchief to wipe cold sweat from their brow. They began looking for bloody footprints, other than Hua’s. The vidbot trailed behind.

<<ColdHamPlease: WTF are your clean booties, detective?

Taino jerked a hand to their front-breast pocket, which wasn’t there. They had left shoe covers and gloves at home with their trench coat. Fuck!

“N-no clear evidence of footsteps,” they said, throat dry and scratchy with shame. “But here!”

The bot zoomed in on a blood drop.

<<RighteousWitch2006: Hard to see on black floor.

“There’s another.” Relief prickled at the corners of Taino’s eyes. They looked up to find themself right in front of a sledgehammer. “Oh!”

<<SunRoad: Don’t you dare touch that without gloves.

<<HueFeldon: What sort of cold-blooded killer reshelves their murder weapon?

“Thor, apparently,” Taino said.

<<DatDataTho42: Seriously and in public and daylight. Odds on a psychopath.

Medic Hua asked, “What was that?”

“Nothing, but we think the killer was unusually fearless.”

“Or really angry.” She aggressively tucked the foil blanket back around her patient.

<<NotYourAverageD: Can you follow killer’s trail from weapon?

Taino crouched, scanning the floor. They felt like their eyes would pop out of their skull. “Do you see anything?”

<<the_adVeecate: Three minutes until I need the victim’s ID. Don’t fail me, Taino.

“All right, Vittoria.” They jogged past Hua, who was elevating Librarian Larsen’s feet. “I have an ID reader. I’ll climb over the shelves to get as close to the victim as I can without disturbing the blood.”

Only, the shelves were full of hoes and shovels.

“A little help?” Taino glanced back at the bystanders at the circulation desk.

The superstar Zephyrine dashed up. Together they tossed the long-handled tools across the aisle.

Taino clambered over the shelves to reach the John Doe. The corpse had collapsed in front of ladders. Usually, people displayed public names and pronouns in cyberspace above their heads. This wasn’t the case here, unfortunately. No head.

Fortunately, Taino had cybernetics that could scan identity from a personal device. They waved their right hand over the corpse’s pockets, then arms, then neck stump. Taino felt like a desperate magician failing at their last trick.

<<Babs2027: Probably had an ear implant.

“Anyone see where his left ear went?” Disgust rose from their stomach to sear the back of their throat.

Someone yelled from the reference desk. “Do you need to know who died?”

“Yes!”

A woman librarian was leaning over a computer. “Checking the enter and exit logs. I think he’s Dominik Kang. Was.”

Taino slapped their forehead. Of course, the Library monitored all digital IDs to record checkouts. Maybe this would be an open-and-shut case after all. “You wouldn’t happen to have any video too? Any hidden cameras?”

The librarian looked scandalized.

<<the_adVeecate: Confirm identity with dental photos, as much of the oral cavity as you can.

Taino stared from their bare hands to what remained below.

<<SunRoad: Don’t. Dominik was a painter. Victim has a tool belt with brushes.

<<the_adVeecate: Tool libraries are packed with painters. Confirm ID now.

“Medic Hua? We need a dental survey. Can I borrow, that is, may I have a pair of gloves?”

<<SunRoad: Even with gloves you would contaminate scene.

<<MarcusDildoius: ID into fast data is worth more than a pristine CS. Do it.

The last comment had the most votes, including Vittoria’s and her supporters. Taino would have to answer to them if he didn’t deliver.

Hua plashed her way over. “My gloves will never fit your hands. Here.”

She reached toward the corpse.

Taino flinched away. When they managed to look back, she had lifted into view something unrecognizable.

“Maybe if I wipe it off.” Taino pulled out their handkerchief and dropped it. Their hands were shaking.

“Never handled blood before?” The medic dispensed from her belt a fistful of cotton swabs. While she scrubbed, Taino studied Dominik Kang’a public profile.

His pictures showed a man concentrating as he painted a variety of walls in pastels. Slight features, whisper of a black goatee, brown eyes, Dominik rarely seemed to smile. Even if he had, Taino wouldn’t have been able to identify him by the teeth the medic uncovered. Luckily, that was another detective’s job.

“Good enough?” Hua asked.

“Has to be.” Taino waved the camera bot closer and started to wretch.

Medic Hua led them away, off the shelf and down the aisle. Then she stopped and gazed back. Her constant motion hardened into stillness. Something new crossed over her face: a fierceness more suited to the dark ages of humanity, when people had fought each other with spears or guns. “You’re going to find the fucker who did this?”

“That’s what we do.”

She stared straight into the camera’s lens. “Call me if you need help with the chase.”

fourteen minutes, fifty-five seconds

The train sped Vittoria toward the United Union Library Main Branch. The step pyramid glittered, solar panels and glass windows reflecting light on the sunny side of the mountainous building. On its midface platforms, people strolled and worked in hanging gardens. The train passed above the greenery, a bonsai grove on one side of the electrified tracks and a food forest on the other. With a whoosh, the Tall Tram entered the Library Tunnel and began to slow.

Looking back to her holographic workstation, Vittoria frowned at the live video. Taino bumbled around the crime scene. If they failed to secure the victim’s identity, this would be a short emergency meeting. The damage to her reputation as an advocate would harm her chances of securing the next sortition council. Before that particular stress spiral could constrict her any further, Vittoria forced herself to focus on the next necessary action.

She typed a message in the air. Her cybernetic nails materialized glowing purple letters with every keystroke.

<<the_adVeecate: Three minutes until I need the victim’s ID. Don’t fail us, Taino.

Then she sent an inquiry to her video editor. <<Almost done making something of Taino’s comedy of errors?

<<MerlinTree: Yes, V.

The train doors whisked open. Vittoria collapsed her workstation back into the holo-orb at the end of her walking stick. She stooped, lest the metal roof snag her headdress. After stepping out, Vittoria straightened to her full height.

She passed private reading rooms, with people leafing through cyberspace recreations of rare books. Shelves with physical ones spanned the hall all the way to the ceiling, ten meters overhead. A robotic arm whirred as it extracted a tome and began to descend, and a patron reached up to receive the item, turning in time to glimpse Vittoria and gape.

Gazes followed her, as they always did. Esteem warmed her skin. She never felt more powerful than when her long strides took her step-by-step closer to solving a case, to outmaneuvering her adversary, to asserting mastery. Let all see her towering figure. She was a walking achievement of science, style, and skill.

The click of her walking stick on the tile drew the attention of those few who might otherwise have missed her. She glanced into the staff’s orb; the video feed flickered within its flawless crystal. Taino had made some progress identifying the victim but not enough. She neared her destination. Her left hand typed out another imperative.

The hall opened into a crossroads streaming with sunlight, channeled deep into the pyramid with fiber optics. Children ran after each other. Two men kissed beside a statue of workers representing the United Unions holding up the globe. One of the sculptures gripped a hammer.

“Ah!” With a gesture, Vittoria added sledgehammer-loan records to her official request.

She recognized one of the sortaries slipping ahead of her into the council chamber. Time was up. Peering into her orb, she saw Taino had secured a dental survey through the competence of others and no skill of their own. She forwarded the images to her dentist contact and flagged it as urgent. Without confirmation of the victim’s ID, her expedited request could well be denied.

Do not fail me, Dentist Phillips.

Vittoria ducked through the doorway. The ceiling inside sloped like a planetarium, decorated with a cascading list of things loaned by the Library. She caught crepe pan and child boots, size six, but the blue words scrolled too fast to be more than ornamental.

Excitement tingled up her arms and back. Inside, she incinerated her doubts, her anxieties, and channeled that energy into intensity. She nodded to the sortition council. Of the seven select librarians, two had attended in person. Three more appeared as apparitions, their holograms strobing up from the floor. More than enough for quorum.

“Thank you, Sortaries, for convening on such short notice, for the sake of public safety.” She waved her staff above a shining prism at the center of the room, in order to connect to the Library’s computer. The wall behind her lit up with the CDS’s crest. “Bylaws of the Citizens Detective Society require I record this meeting. I am beginning a livestream now.”

Detectives filled the video channel with greetings and best wishes. She had to ignore them, to check her messages. Still no word from the dentist or video editor.

The digital voice of the Library’s computer began the meeting. After leading a pledge, it called the roll. While the sortaries confirmed their attendance, Vittoria inserted the unconfirmed name Dominik Kang into her presentation.

A triumphant purple light flashed in Vittoria’s orb. She had received her finisher video, along with a short message from her editor friend.

<<MerlinTree: Done, as you requested. Video begins by establishing location and grows increasingly graphic.

Letting out a sweet breath, she readied her presentation and faced the librarians. “I will begin at your pleasure.”

A sortary cleared her throat. Tattoos of literary quotes illuminated every visible centimeter of her body. “This sortition council recognizes Advocate Vittoria Götadottir.”

Under the council’s attention, she expanded. Her voice filled the chamber. “Tragedy struck today in the Lakewood Tool Library. A citizen was murdered. Multiple communities have been wounded. Before the healing process can begin, we must have truth. Before we can feel safe, we must discover the killer. You, Sortaries, have the power to aid that investigation by arming our detectives with knowledge.”

Her orb lit up with hearts from her viewers. Comments whizzed by.

<<Fellworth33: Data! Data! Give us data!

<<Markabre: Keep preaching, Lady V!

Vittoria rapped her staff twice and began her presentation. Graphs slid over the walls. “Unlocking personal-device-location data increases murder-case closure by fifty percent. Knowing the names and whereabouts of the victim’s family, friends, and those in greatest proximity will give them the swiftest closure. Further, the CDS requests the contact information of everyone who passed within a hundred meters of the tool library today, to search for potential witnesses.”

<<Dadtective30: Feed us, data momma!

Though deft at maintaining an expression of gravity, Vittoria could not help but grin when she saw another flicker within her orb. The good dentist had delivered.

<<ToothCollector: I can confirm the documented dentition belongs to Dominik Kang. Thank you again for your work, Advocate. This is horrific.

Vittoria projected the painter’s image for the council. “The CDS has confirmed the identity of the victim, Dominik Kang. Information you provide about his contacts will magnify our ability to find a suspect. The closer the relationship, the more likely the guilt of murder.”

She turned to regard the enlarged figure of Dominik. Vittoria had chosen the only picture she could find of him smiling; he reached out with a roller to paint a wall fuchsia. From his online demeanor she would guess him to be a quiet and focused sort.

“When people think of the Library, let them dwell not on the violence of today but on your swift response, for justice,” Vittoria said. “I am now available for questions.”

“What protections do you have in place against data misuse?” A remote sortary spoke first. The semitransparent man wore only a bathrobe, patterned with honeysuckle, and his hair was wet.

“You will find those safeguards on page seven of my full request.” Vittoria flourished a hand, and holographic pamphlets blinked into existence in front of each councilmember. The ethereal document opened to the passage in question.

“Why aren’t you simply requesting library entry logs?” This sortary wore his hair in an orange Mohawk with circuitry glittering on one side of his head. “We track everyone’s ID ourselves. Instead, you’re asking us to tap into the city’s protected files. That’s much more invasive.”

Not as invasive as a hammer to the head, Vittoria thought, but she said, “Sortary, can you display the tool library’s entry logs from today?”

“Easily.” The wall and ceiling lit up with a list of names.

Vittoria lifted her staff. “As you can see, the last two people to leave the library, Mike and Elu, did so at 2:30. The murder occurred at around that time. However, did either of those two know Dominik Kang? Whom should we investigate first? We cannot know that without more data.”

<<FilthyCarousel0003: Tell them if they delay, the killer will have plenty of time to bash them next.

“Secondly,” Vittoria said, “we refer grief counselors to the victim’s loved ones. Dominik’s family does not appear on this list. Third and most importantly, if we look at these names, the killer is likely to be invisible.”

A sortary frowned, causing a crease in a tattooed quote from an Oscar Wilde play. She asked, “Who goes to the library without ID? And with zero tracked items?”

“Someone who goes there to murder.”

“Oh, right,” the sortary said.

<<NoItsTheChildrenWhoRWrong: You tell ‘em, V!

“Evidence from the crime scene speaks to cold calculation,” Vittoria said. “The killer did not simply drop the murder weapon or leave a massive trail of blood.”

A sortary flinched away from her gaze.

“Imagine the killer switching off their devices before entering the tool library and turning them on again soon after. We would see that, with the full data, and could apprehend the suspect before news breaks of murder, and before any possibility of further harm to others.”

“You make a strong case, Advocate, except for one point,” the sortary in the bathrobe said. “You claim this was calculated, in cold blood, but if it wasn’t a crime of passion, why then was it carried out in the most public place possible, where you would be likely to get caught?”

“That intriguing paradox makes the CDS all the more eager to begin the investigation with every available resource.”

<<TheFinallyGirl: This murder is some cold shit.

<<GodOfSnore_: Calling it early, case of the year.

“Not a question.” A familiar sortary raised her holographic hand. Her naturally jovial face bent out of shape, striving for seriousness. “I simply wanted to say I am also a member of the CDS and will abstain from the vote—”

Fuck you! You’re a dabbler, not a detective, with only one closed case to your name.

Rage erupted through Vittoria’s chest but did not rise above her neck. Now the remaining sortaries would have to vote three to one in favor, or she would fail.

“—but this information request is typical and, frankly, wonderful. Oh, I guess the council should also know why we think it’s murder.”

“Thank you, Detective Asali Dhillan. Or should I say, Sortary?” Vittoria started the finisher video.

The council chamber brightened with the colors of the tool library’s exterior. These stock images would not last. Soon the sortaries would see only red.

“This documentation of the crime scene will make matters clear. Clearer, even, than you are dutifully required to witness. If you wish to safeguard your mental health, avert your eyes. I can also stop the video at any time, should you proceed with a motion.”

“My god! Is that the murder weapon?”

Vittoria glanced up to see the sledgehammer looming: a long shaft of wood attached to a thick head of metal. The killer most likely had needed to strain with two hands to swing the tool overhead. She bet she could have done it with one. “The murder weapon, yes.”

The sortaries were transfixed by the video behind her. Crimson light flooded over them, passing through the holograms of those here remotely and staining the slack faces of the others.

“You should know I could have petitioned the neighborhood council where Dominik Kang lived. I thought the Library would want the first opportunity to—”

“Enough!” A sortary lifted a hand over his eyes. “I motion to approve the advocate’s request in full.”

“I second.”

“Roll call.” The computer’s voice emanated from the floor. “All those in favor, say, ‘Aye.’”

Vittoria held her breath.

<<Cadfael07:!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

“Aye.”

“Abstain.”

“Aye.”

One more yes vote, and she would have it. Vittoria clenched her staff and went just as rigid.

“Aye.”

“Abstain.”

Vittoria breathed upward and rocked to her toes. She felt three-meters tall, buoyed up by bliss.

“Motion passes by majority,” the computer said.

Her holo-orb shone purple, along with the chamber’s prism. She knew the city’s mainframe had fulfilled her data request when her staff flashed like a nova.

She flowed out of the council chambers, carried by an avalanche of appreciation from CDS viewers.

<<MackleLess: Long live Queen V!

<<SeoYea-ji: Remember, we stand on the shoulders of giants.

Before ending the stream, Vittoria typed a farewell to the detectives.

<<the_adVeecate: Now get to work, dicks.

She stood by the world sculpture, sorry to see the two kissing lovers had left. She drank in the sunlight, feeling the warmth pass all the way through her, face to toes.

Her obligation was done, and the CDS would not need an advocate again until after they found a suspect. That was another relief, given the paradox exposed by the irritatingly informed sortary. This case might prove most puzzling.

“Advocate Vittoria.” A man approached her with a camera on his shoulder. “Did your private meeting with the Library Council have anything to do with today’s incident in Lakewood?”

"Detective Juul will hold a press conference within the hour at the tool library. For now, I can only say the sortaries have acted responsibly and expeditiously to ensure the safety of all citizens.”

“Does that mean—”

“That will be all.” She strode down the hall.

Beneath a sign of a dress and hat, she paused, posing with her walking stick. The Main Branch had the most elegant dressing rooms. More to the point, it had the tallest mirrors. Vittoria no longer borrowed as many outfits as she once did; extensive tailoring was so tedious. But why not, as a treat?

Leaning through the door, she hit the button for random. A hologram of a white gown appeared in the mirror. In front of her, it seemed doll sized. For the computer to correctly size her, she pivoted around her staff.

The gown simulation stretched to fit her full figure. She fancied how the dress set off her kokoshnik headdress: fractal whorls filled it along with three amethysts that could be seen as the eyes of a cosmic being or dangling fruits of a forbidden tree. Gazing at herself, Vittoria grinned. Her smile widened until it filled her whole world.

twenty-eight minutes, nine seconds

Handler Dave Nakamura and his dogs may have been the last to the crime scene, but he counted himself lucky they had arrived at all.

The front of the library was taped off, with a rapid-response motorcycle flashing. A greenhorn detective stood nervously alongside a man wearing the white gi and black belt of a martial artist. Reporters paced around but avoided his presence of assurance.

As Nakamura went in, he passed two women in bright motorcycle suits, leaving with a man on a stretcher. Alive but loopy. Though a blanket covered him, Nakamura could tell he was bloodstained by the angle of Mai’s nose. Leading the dogs inside, he was met by the media-ready smile of Detective Juul.

“Nakamura! Let me know if you catch the killer before my press conference. It’s in fifteen.”

“Probably will need thirty.”

Lanky and polished, glowing in personality, somber in a white suit of mourning, Juul put her hands on her knees to talk to the hounds. “Sorry. No petting today. Can’t risk wearing another drool necklace.”

The dogs adored her. Nakamura did too. Juul was young and well spoken. Nothing got you further faster than working hard at a job no one else wanted.

Trouble was, neither she nor anyone local was asking to learn bloodhound handling.

He tugged on Chimon’s harness. The dog was trying to run around a row of wheelbarrows. “Juul, let me know when you’re ready for that tracking lesson.”

She pointed him toward the librarian’s desk. “Soon as you keep your promise to train a crime-sniffing pig.”

He shook his head. Down an aisle he spied another detective in white, a clean suit, examining the body. Chimon lunged in that direction. Nakamura anticipated the pull on the leash, but he was taken by surprise when someone grabbed his belt.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Elder. Thought you might fall.” A martial artist drew back her hand. Her tank top had some cartoon character he didn’t recognize. “They’re big dogs.”

Though she wasn’t wearing her black belt with her shorts, Nakamura could see it in the cool confidence of her stance. He was sure she could kill him in a single kick. But after mishandling him, a blush started on her nose and spread wings over her delicate face.

“It is all right,” he said. “I’m used to the dogs.”

She embarrassed him further by bowing. The martial artist didn’t introduce herself, likely thinking he could read her name in cyberspace; for that he would have to put on his special glasses. Nakamura would’ve asked her for her name. It seemed they would be working together, but he worried he would shame himself even more by forgetting it.

The bloodhounds led him to another waving detective. Nakamura recognized the nonbinary person by their neon-green fedora. They were a nerd for private eyes but not at all for bloodhounds. Nakamura knew they had introduced themself more than once, but he would be damned if he could remember.

“Did you get blood on your coat, Detective?” Nakamura asked.

“It was a hot day.” Perspiration stood out on their ebony skin. “Anyway, so glad you’re here. I lost the trail past the murder weapon. This way.”

While they walked ahead of him, Nakamura snuck his glasses from his pocket. As soon as he lifted them over his face, their name appeared above their head in bright green.

<<Taino Azan, they/them

That was it!

Detective Taino stopped in front of a hammer being dusted for prints. “We don’t know if the killer skipped from here to the front entrance, or out the back.”

“Okay, Mai. Okay, Chimon. Find!” The bloodhounds started sniffing. Their ears drooped over the rubbery floor. Mai hobbled from him toward the sledgehammer. She had trouble walking these days, even with her cybernetic back leg. Chimon again pressed toward the corpse. “The strongest smells are coming from that way, but let’s find out if there’s another trail.”

“Ever see something like this?” Taino asked.

“Not that specific murder weapon, no,” Nakamura said. “But this sort of thing in public, sure.”

“What was the motive, typically?” They retreated from Mai as the hound circled, her nose to the floor.

“Anger on a hot day like this or a few dollars.”

“Really?” The martial artist asked, “Just for money?”

“Didn’t take much with guns everywhere,” Nakamura said.

The dogs wanted to trample over an area cordoned off, where detectives studied the ground with black lights. His dogs would clean the crime scene of all evidence, if he let them.

“Back! Back! Back! Not that way.” Nakamura pulled on the leads. “Hold on, Mai’s found something.”

The old hound lifted her head, snout high enough to glimpse her cloudy eyes deep-set in her wrinkly serenity. A hollow bay, and she started toward the back of the library.

“Wait,” the martial artist said, “is the cyber dog blind?”

“Yes, she is.” An ache settled in its normal spot between Nakamura’s heart and throat. People often questioned why he had replaced Mai’s leg but not her eyes. Vision wasn’t the problem. It was bone cancer again, and trying to treat it in the ten-year-old bloodhound would be a cruelty.

At least Mai would have this one last chase.

Chimon followed his mother, his tail at full wag. They tracked past shelves of sanding blocks and more wrenches than Nakamura would know what to do with.

“If this scent is the killer’s, must’ve taken off their shoes,” Taino said. “Never saw a footprint this way. Hey, there’s a drop.”

“And there’s a door.” Nakamura’s hounds snuffled at its base. Chimon stood up against it, pawing higher than the doorknob. The handler pulled him down and took a closer look. “See, backside of the knob, right where fingers grip.”

“You’re right. More blood.” Taino raised their voice. “We need a duster over here.”

While the green-hatted detective hurried and huffed away, Nakamura gave the hounds a treat. His back throbbed as he reached down to pet Mai. Her tan-and-liver fur was only a little less glossy and a bit greyer than her pup’s. Chimon yipped in excitement. Mai slobbered over Nakamura’s hand with affection.

He caught the martial artist smiling. Nakamura asked, “Do you like dogs?”

“Well, I’ve never had one.” But the sparkle in the young woman’s eyes said she would love to.

Or maybe he was projecting. He straightened with a sigh.

Taino returned with another detective in a clean suit, as well as a woman librarian. No one introduced her, likely assuming everyone could see her name digitally.

“Is this door normally locked?” Taino asked the librarian.

“No, nothing really back here. Just a few offices.”

“And a back door?” Nakamura asked.

The martial artist answered, “Hien has been watching it from the street for the last five minutes.”

Nakamura guessed she was talking about another black belt, whose name he had already forgotten. “The killer wouldn’t leave the building covered in blood.”

“So they may have hidden inside,” Taino said. “That’s why we waited for a full team.”

The librarian moved to the back. She closed her eyes and took a long breath. The martial artist did a few stretches while detective Taino put on gloves and opened the door.

The black belt led the way into a corridor.

Deja vu curdled within Nakamura. He had seen this before, yes, in a dream, or maybe in his youth. A woman padded ahead of him across dark floors. No sound, no warning before a man in a ski mask jumped out and gunned her down and shot the hounds too.

Nakamura blinked away the vision and drew a breath between his clenched teeth. The hounds whined, smelling his fear. He had to do better. He had to be two steps ahead or he would never react in time. Nakamura gave Mai and Chimon the command to move in.

They caught up to the martial artist beside an open room. What was that hissing sound? Inside, water sprayed from a spigot over a whetstone.

“The trail leads down the hall,” he said, “but don’t leave any darkness behind us.”

Taino flicked on a flashlight, and the librarian reached into the room to turn on a light switch. Saws and all kinds of bladed tools cluttered a workbench. Otherwise, it looked clear.

“Lock that room shut, if you can,” he said.

Nakamura felt a puff of air on his neck, and all his hair stood on end. He staggered into the wall, turning around to see a giant insectile, one-eyed—no wait, it was just a camera bot.

“God,” he said, “I hate those! Has it been following us the whole time?”

“Sorry,” Taino said.

The bloodhounds advanced, noses to the ground, tails in the air. They neared another door, this one marked as an exit.

Mai turned away from it, and Chimon followed. It was as Nakamura expected. The killer hadn’t gone out.

The handler’s heart skipped a beat then returned to a labored rhythm. He felt dizzy. The walls seemed to sway, just like in his nightmares.

At the end of this corridor waited a lone door. Stenciled words read Paint Closet.

The dogs shook their heads and whiffed. Must have scented chemicals.

“Hold, Mai. Hold, Chimon.” He nodded toward the closet.

The martial artist stalked forward. Taino clumped beside her. Nakamura reached to his side for his gun, only it wasn’t there—hadn’t been for years.

Taino lifted a gloved hand toward the door. They exchanged a look with the martial artist then yanked it open.

Nakamura waited. He heard only the purring of ventilation.

The pair just stood there, peering in. The flashlight cut forward and back and overhead, revealing shelves stacked with paint cans.

The dogs pulled Nakamura closer. His hands sweated on the leads.

The librarian called out. “The switch is on the left.”

Taino groped for it but couldn’t seem to find it. Nakamura had almost reached them.

The detective focused their flashlight on a bucket. Something floated inside.

They got the switch at last. Shadows shrank.

The closet was empty, except for the paint on the shelves and bucket on the floor and an empty can on its side covered with warning labels and the word LYE.

“Oh shit!” With their gloved hand, Taino reached into the bucket. They pulled out something black, bulky, and dripping.

The librarian asked, “Is that a sweatshirt?”

“Yes, and I think these are the killer’s pants.” Taino dropped the clothes with a splat.

Nakamura leaned to keep the hounds from rushing in and gobbling the lye-soaked clothes. Wouldn’t put it past them.

“The killer must’ve changed his trimmings in this closet. But what about shoes?” Taino peered into the bucket. “Wouldn’t fit. We’ll have to find those.”

“Let’s get this lye neutralized,” Nakamura said. “Could still be evidence to somebody.”

The librarian said, “I’ll research disposal.”

The martial artist pivoted to face him. “Are we checking outside next?”

“The blood trail led here.” Taino pointed to the spilled bucket. “And that’s where it ended.”

“Wait,” Nakamura said. “You do know bloodhounds track more than blood?”

The detective perked up. “That’s right. The killer lingered here. Think you can get a scent even with this ventilation?”

“Maybe, if you clean up that mess first.”

With the right tools at hand, it took Taino and the librarian a few minutes. All the while Nakamura thought of a precious cloud of scent being sucked up by the fan. When he could finally let the dogs in, they took one sniff then bayed in Taino’s face.

“Not them,” Nakamura said.

Next, Chimon lunged at the librarian. Streamers of slobber fell on her black braids. The dog was tall as her, paws up on her shoulders. She laughed and rubbed his sides.

“Not her either. Chimon, down. Chimon!”

The hounds returned to Taino. “Think I’ll go,” they said, retreating after the librarian.

That left the martial artist in the corridor, and Nakamura in the paint closet with the dogs. “Mai, Chimon, find.”

They bayed then launched down the hall. If they went after Taino again, Nakamura was ready to call it. But they pressed their snouts against the exit door. “Maybe the perp walked out back before your black-belt friend got there.”

The martial artist opened it, and the dogs burst outside. She spoke to another martial artist, the one who had kept watch on the back of the library. Mai and Chimon explored the street, ignoring pedestrians who stopped to croon. They pulled Nakamura back toward the front.

Reporters gathered there, and he could hear the fluting voice of Juul. If he let them, the dogs might tackle her right in the middle of her press conference.

“Mai, Chimon, wrong way.”

“How can you tell, Elder?” the martial artist asked.

“The bad guy didn’t leave the back door to walk around to the front. You can bet your last dollar on it.”

“I don’t have any dollars,” she said.

“Oh yeah.” Damn did the world change fast.

The pup persisted in pulling toward the entrance. His mother found the trail going a different direction, thank goodness. With another bay, they were on their way.

On the open road, they picked up speed. Nakamura did his hopping jog. The dogs pulled him through the air.

“They’re like horses.” The martial artist ran beside him.

“And me,” he said between gasps, “without a saddle.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“This is slow. The pup holds back, for his mom.”

They turned right at a street intersection. A few folks on scooters raced alongside the dogs, grinning.

After a few blocks, the hounds scrambled upstairs to a train platform. Nothing remained before them but an absence. At the edge, their tails sank. Nakamura’s hopes did the same. Mai turned back toward him with an expression of severe sorrow. Chimon whined.

“Well shoot!” Nakamura said.

The martial artist gazed down the rail. “Now what?”

Used to be, trains had cameras, with security footage he could review. Nowadays people didn’t stand for that sort of surveillance. Made his job harder.

“Huh.” He rubbed his dogs under their ears. “This is a southbound platform. Heads out of the city pretty quick. We can try to get people at the wilderness stops, look who’s aboard.”

“But you don’t think that will work?”

“I’ve learned to count on one thing over the years. Failure,” he said. “My own, but also the criminal’s. One mistake, and we’ll catch the bastard.”

thirty-three minutes, forty seconds

Detective Omari was nursing his baby when Advocate Vittoria secured the location data.

“She did it! She did it!” Omari did a little dance, arms full with a tiny partner. “Now, I know you’ve been waiting with bubble-bated breath to see your dad at his best.”

Omari sat at his computer, rested back with Baby, and saw over a thousand detectives logged into the CDS forum for datahounds. He itched to start sifting for suspects, but he would never have a bigger audience for his joke. Grinning, Omari posted.

<<Dadtective30: A girl ready for love told her mother, “I’m looking for someone sexy, with high confidence, who’s great at solving problems.”

<Her mother said, “Data detective.”

<“Sorry, but if someone is that singular I could never datum.”

He started laughing when the replies came in.

<<BigSleeper27: I hate you so much, Dadtective30. Never change.

<<MackleLess: Don’t go out with dicks. We’re too suspicious!

<<BobBolormaa09: I hate bad posture so I could never date a detective. They always have a hunch!

Baby burbled a complaint.

“What? Aren’t you proud of your dad?” He began entering his first data-map request one handed. “What do you call a crocodile that is a detective?”

She fixed one eye on him, as if daring him to say it.

“An investi-gator. Ha! Are you an investi-gator? Well, are you? Sure feels like it. Ouch!” He shifted Baby to the other side of his chest. She resumed sucking with a scowl.

Before hitting the enter key, he narrowed his eyes at a new comment.

<<BigSleeper47: Are you out the door yet? Looks like you’re up for an interview, Dadtective30.

Omari’s phone rang. The caller ID was CDS Commissioner.

“Detective Omari!” The woman sounded more excited than him, if such a thing were possible. “We need you to interview Amalia Kang. She’s supposed to be one block away at a tailor space.”

“Amalia?” He frowned. “I think I know her.”

“Even better!”

“No, maybe, but I can’t go out. I’m feeding Baby, and—”

“Detective, you can tell me all the reasons why you can’t do this simple and essential function, as long as you do so while walking to 845 Andrew Sage Street.”

Omari stood up. His back hurt; his nipples stung, and he had his first CDS interview ever. He would’ve jumped for joy, if not for Baby.

He peeked into the bedroom, but his husband was sleeping, from a midnight shift at the fusion power plant. No way would Omari disturb such well-deserved dreams.

After leaving a digital note, Omari was out the door, with only one spare nappy, a baby blanket, dad snacks, and a rattle. It was equal parts exhilarating and flustering.

“I hear you clattering around,” the commissioner said. “Are you outside your apartment building yet?”

“Almost.” With Baby in one arm, Omari juggled a knapsack and the phone. “Maybe I should get a sitter. It will only take five minutes. My neighbors—”

“You can call them after confirming Amalia Kang’s location.”

“Wait? Kang? Sorry, I’m sleep deprived.” The elevator carried Omari to the ground floor. “She’s the victim’s partner?”

“Sister. You won’t be grilling her, just establishing contact. The data suggests she was at the tailor space during the killing. You need to confirm she was actually there the whole time and didn’t leave her personal devices behind.”

“Almost there.” Omari crossed a street. A bus stopped for him, while bicyclists sped to either side.

His daughter started to fuss.

“You’re my beautiful Baby. Don’t worry. Don’t—”

The commissioner said, “Excuse me?”

“Oh, not you.” Omari glanced up to see a sign, Thimbles. “At the tailor space.”

“You’re doing important work, Detective. If Amalia Kang isn’t there, you will have netted a prime suspect. Sending you photos for ID.”

Flushed and rushed, Omari entered. The door chimed. Sewing machines clattered. People chatted while darning socks and patching pants.

A woman in a rocking chair said, “Dropping off something, dearie?”

“No, I guess I’m just looking for someone.” Omari glanced at the photos.

Yes, it was the Amalia he knew, the one with terrible taste in cycling teams. In the picture she was celebrating with friends in a local sports bar. A tall and narrow woman, she had just turned to the camera, black hair in motion, mouth open, face ruddy with drink and victory.

Omari found her in the back, in a nap room. She hadn’t pulled the drapes, and she sat alongside another woman. Slouched and collapsed, Amalia had just started to cry, black hair limp, mouth pinched, face fallen and pale.

Stepping back, Omari whispered into the phone. “I―I think the grief counselor just gave her the news.”

“Yes, the therapist arrived sooner. But it’s your job to confirm ID. You’re sure it is the right woman?”

Omari had stopped listening. He felt as if he had just walked into an industrial freezer. Someone had just died, a man with family. His life was over, and theirs would never be the same.

Gazing down at Baby, Omari felt a crushing fragility. He dabbed away some spit up. “I’m going to protect you, lil’ gator. You’re safe. We’re all safe.”

His words sounded like a liar’s.

Omari heard a mumbling and put the phone back to his ear. “Yeah, commissioner, it’s her.”

“Great! Now you just need two witnesses to confirm she has been there and didn’t leave. The tool library is ten minutes away by bicycle.”

“She didn’t do it. I saw her face.”

“Then the best thing you can do for her, Detective, is lock down her alibi while everyone’s memory is fresh.”

“I don’t think I should bother her right now. We’re not friends. I’m more of a datahound anyway.”

“Detectives are working the data across the globe, but you’re the only one there. Interview other people, confirm she didn’t leave.”

In a daze, Omari spoke with some knitters. They wanted a look at his badge. Since he was in an active case, it bobbed by his name in cyberspace. The tailors were even more interested in Baby. She burbled, a weight of comfort in his arms.

After some cooing, one woman said, “The door’s right there, and we see everyone who uses it. Amalia has been here since lunch.”

“Did you hear that, Commissioner?” Omari asked.

“No, and I didn’t see it either. Where is your video feed?”

“Oh, I forgot to start it. I use a vintage phone, so I would have to end the call.”

“An antique?”

“Yes, it was my father’s.”

“Impressive, but you’re going to have to repeat the interview. I’ll be in the chat as Inspector1Endeavour.”

Omari had to ask the knitters to repeat themselves. Embarrassing yes, but he felt lucky that was the worst thing he was feeling. One woman glanced above Omari’s head, likely at his listed pronouns he/him. Her gaze kept circling back to his maternity blouse. He wasn’t surprised when she had a question of her own.

“Did you carry the child too? To term, I mean.”

“Oh, no. Artificial womb at the lab. Nursing was hardcore enough for me,” Omari said then remembered a joke. “I decided to man up and grow breasts.”

Rolling your eyes, Omari had decided, was a form of applause that left your hands free.

That’s right, he was streaming. Omari flushed. Probably should’ve paused the feed. The detectives watching must have thought he was boasting. He braced himself and checked the comments.

No, it was a volley of likes. A new feeling fluttered at the top of his chest. Omari straightened up with Baby and marched to get another statement.

A man answered but kept his eyes on his work on a dress form. “Amalia? Yes, she has been here. She swore so loudly, made me prick myself. Said her team lost.”

“There wasn’t any cycling today.”

“What did she say it was? Oh yes, calcio storico.”

Another highly questionable sports choice. Just as well he wouldn’t be talking with Amalia after all.

<<Inspector1Endeavour: Can confirm the game ended at 2:40 off a lucky bounce. Now you simply need to ensure that wasn’t a recorded voice. Did he see or just hear her?

The dresser said he had seen her, but he didn’t look sure. Omari felt the same way about asking all these questions.

<<Inspector1Endeavour: Now your first witness statement needs work. They told you Amalia hadn’t come in through the front. Check if there’s a back door.

Omari hadn’t caught that. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

<<Inspector1Endeavour: That’s why I’m here, Detective. With cooperation, citizens can solve crimes.

He did find a back door. It led to an alley with a few bicycles. Was she guilty after all? He had been ready to vouch for her. Omari felt like he had some bad gas, a painful bubble in his gut that couldn’t get out.

He needed to ask more questions. An enby at a sewing machine said they didn’t notice Amalia, either way. The next man was ironing patches onto pants.

“Sure, Amalia was here. She stole my best material!”

“And that was recently, half an hour ago or so?”

“Yes. Detective, what’s wrong? I was kidding about the stealing.”

“Not that. Don’t think I can say what, sorry.” Omari hustled to a corner and spoke into his phone. “Was that it? Did we do it?”

<<Inspector1Endeavour: Amalia Kang is cleared of her brother’s murder, thanks to you, Detective.

Omari’s relief only increased when his husband walked through the door. The sleepy-sleepy sundrop had woken up and gotten the note. They embraced, their daughter nestled between. Omari held on to the hug until he began to feel like himself again.

Someone tapped his shoulder. “Detective, would you take Amalia Kang home?”

It was the grief counselor. Beside her, the sister was looking shattered.

“Of course, I’ll go with her.” Omari transferred Baby to his partner and gave them both a kiss goodbye.

Omari and Amalia walked silently down the street. They sat side by side on the bus without speaking. He received a message from Inspector1Endeavour with interview questions. Instead of reading them he pocketed his phone. Amalia got off the bus, and he stood beside her as she stared at an apartment block. It looked like she couldn’t make up her mind to go in.

“Want me to walk you to your door?” Omari asked.

“I don’t live here.” Her voice was hoarse. “Dom painted it.”

The building shone aquamarine. Greenery crowned it, from a rooftop garden barely seen. White clotheslines crisscrossed the street.

Omari said, “It’s beautiful.”

“If what she said is true, this is all that’s left of him. His work.”

“Did he paint other places?”

“Yes,” she said. “Solar paint, mostly, and that has to be redone. A decade, maybe, and then he’ll be gone.”

Omari didn’t feel qualified to say anything. He reached toward her shoulder, to comfort her, but withdrew his hand instead.

She turned away from the building and trudged down the street. He followed.

Amalia said, “What’s going to be left of my work? A few elbow patches?”

Omari wasn’t sure she really wanted an answer from him, but he felt he had to say something. “What do you like about the tailor space?”

“The people, mostly.” She sighed. “Tore up so many of my clothes as a kid that mom made me learn to fix them.”

A boy wheeled his bicycle off the road to watch a video. Omari saw it was a news broadcast from the tool library. Thankfully, Amalia missed it.

She asked, “Why are you a detective?”

“I like math, well, logic problems, and it is something to do while Baby isn’t sleeping. Kept running out of sports to watch.”

“That’s right. You’re the one who roots for the most boring cycling teams.”

Given Amalia’s recent loss, he would let that pass. Even if her aversion to recumbent racing bordered on criminal.

She stopped in front of another building. It sounded like she chuckled, but no, that must have been a whimper.

“Did your brother paint this one too?”

“Yes, but not that pink,” she said. “He is very particular about colors.”

“Was he?”

“Was, yes,” she said. “He painted it orange or something, not what the community wanted. So they redid it. He didn’t like that.”

“Did they get into an argument?” Omari knew he should be recording this. Except, taking out his phone felt impossible.

“Dom got frustrated with people, but he never shouted. Just walked away. And one night he came back here and repainted it orange. Ha!”

“In one night?”

“He was fast. I attended all his speed-painting tourneys.”

“Um, did he win any?”

Amalia didn’t seem to hear. After a while she wiped her eyes and nose and started walking. Before going after her, Omari noted the address.

Her pace picked up only to drag again almost to a standstill. Eventually she entered a place, took the stairs up, and put her key in a door. Resting her forehead against it, she turned back to him.

Now she would say goodbye. Omari wondered if he should offer a hug.

“You’ll want to see Dom’s room.” Amalia left the door open.

He hesitated at the threshold. Sobbing came from somewhere inside. Invited or not, he felt like an intruder. Besides, his chest was beginning to ache. Omari really should get back to Baby. The commissioner hadn’t wanted him to follow Amalia home to investigate. He should leave the family alone and document what the sister had told him.

Reaching to close the door and leave, he met the gaze of a woman detective. He recognized her, short with a cherub face, from the CDS game nights. A vidbot perched on her shoulder blinked red. She said, “In here, Detective.”

Compelled, Omari went with her into a room. Paint cans covered the floor. At a table without chairs, colorful pigments were stacked in precarious piles, between mortar and pestles. Above the mess, the walls stood pristine in uniform yellow. No other furniture except indentations suggesting a fold-out bed.

Omari asked, “Did he take out his chair to make more room for paint?”

“Seems so,” the woman with the camera said. “I interviewed the parents. They mentioned Dominik was never satisfied with the hues of solar paint.”

Omari repeated what the sister had told him about Dominik’s hue feud. It didn’t feel good, saying it in front of the camera. Omari had no idea how Advocate Vittoria seemed so natural at the council meetings.

The other detective tapped a finger against her chin. “A bad paint job seems pretty thin motivation for murder by sledgehammer.”

“A lead’s a lead.”

“What do you make of this?” She swept a hand over the paint cans. Seven were pried open. They all seemed to hold the same shade of turquoise.

“No idea, but the labheads might like it.”

“Hope someone does. I promised we would move out the lot for evidence.”

Omari’s shoulders slumped. “Now?”

“I’ll get the community involved.” She switched the camera off. “You go home, Detective. You have a kid, right?”

Gratitude filled him, and it built to the point of pain, all the way home to his whole and healthy family. His happiness was unbearable.

thirty-five minutes, fifty-eight seconds

Detective Eše'hemeo'o breathed in.

He visualized himself with cuts on his hands, blood dripping and mixing into all the world’s pains. “We are one family, one tribe,” he said. “We are Tsistsistas, and I am here for you. I will find your truth. Your story will be told in full.” Dawnlight from the east shone through his spirit. There, to the distant Sand Hills, he would go when his time came. He pointed that way, should Dominik Kang wish for guidance in his journey on the winds.

Eše'hemeo'o breathed out.

He began vacuuming, clearing away bodily fluids until he had a safe passage to the corpse. Tears absorbed into his face mask. His drone had finished its full scans of the scene. He turned on its video for a livestream and chose auto-follow so he could focus.

Studying the debris before him that had once been part of a living being, he said, “The body was moved earlier by the medic at the request of Detective Taino. From their video I suspected Dominik had been facing the shelf, examining ladders, at the time of the attack. On closer examination, nothing contradicts that opinion.”

He turned off the vacuum and crouched beside the body, first facing east, then continued his investigation.

“I see two distinct foci. The first, where Dominik Kang stood upright and was likely bludgeoned by the sledgehammer.”

The blue of Eše'hemeo'o’s gloved fingers traced above darkening splatter marks. The blood had sprayed onto the shelves. Some had dripped through the metal’s circular corrugation.

“The second hit was again to the head but from above. A lower impact, after Dominik Kang had collapsed. The ejecta were more panoramic. I do not see evidence of a third strike.”

He collected skull fragments in silence, bagging them, and handing the evidence to another detective in a clean suit. Together they made room to lay out a body bag. His assistant gripped the legs, while Eše'hemeo'o hoisted the torso by the shoulders.

The library disappeared in a flash, and he stood in a different time and place. He struggled with another corpse, this one with a head but bloated beyond recognition from floodwaters. Eše'hemeo'o had been younger then, he and his rescue partner both strong, but they had failed to carry the dead up the embankment. Slipping, falling, tumbling through grief, beyond despair, and into mud. The best they could do is tag the corpse with a waterproof locator, to find it later amidst the drowned city.

The memory zipped closed as they sealed the body bag. His heart drummed, and he spent a moment in gratitude for all life.

Detective Taino approached, hat in hand. What the detective lacked in fitness and technical experience they made up for with eagerness and a discerning mind. “So, Eše'hemeo'o, what do you make of it?”

Say what you will of Taino and their particular style, at least they pronounced his name correctly. Eše'hemeo'o kept his mask on to catch tears, lest they contaminate the crime scene. “Dominik Kang likely never saw the blow fall. Death came fast.”

Sweat had turned Taino’s hat to a darker shade of green. “How big did the killer have to be, for this sort of POW-hammering?”

Eše'hemeo'o frowned. “The coroner will have their own opinion. I prefer not to speculate between a large assailant and a smaller figure expending a larger effort, perhaps with a leap.”

“A sledgehammer jump attack? Then there’s no doubt as to the cause of death?”

“Would you have any doubts, if someone ran at you with a sledgehammer?”

Taino did a double take. “Could a boy have done it?”

“Let’s see.” Eše'hemeo'o drew orange lines in cyberspace, from blood splatter to where Kang had been hit. The case file listed the victim’s height, but he could’ve been bending over to examine the shelf. Connecting more shimmering threads, Eše'hemeo'o grouped them together then removed a glove to tap out a few commands on his pectoral cybernetics.

The straight beams bent, arched in paths of probability in accordance with fluid dynamics. The epicenter resembled a firework explosion, brightness streaking in all directions and downward.

Numbers appeared on each line. He watched them as he manipulated the cluster’s elevation. “The probability maxes with Dominik Kang standing close to upright. What was the boy’s height?”

“146.3 centimeters.” Taino gazed at the cyberspace calculations. “His mother says he was at hand, but I would like to be sure.”

“As I connect more data points, you should see a blood shadow.”

“Wow! Here?” Taino waved to a void. An absence began to manifest amidst the orange beams.

“Yes, the perp stood there and blocked the spray. This is indicating someone taller than the boy.”

“And broader.” Taino stepped into the void, filling it. A few strands in cyberspace passed through their arms and sides.

Eše'hemeo'o wanted to know something. “Did the witnesses in the library mention hearing anything? An argument? Multiple impacts?”

“Four other people were inside at the time. Librarian Jose Larsen, who fainted and went into shock. We deferred his interview. Librarian Mery Okoye, who was speaking at the circulation desk about furniture to a patron. They heard something heavy fall, but Mery assumed the other librarian would look into it and didn’t follow up.”

“The fourth witness was the boy?”

“The patron’s son, yes. We took both their statements and sent them home with therapists. The boy may have seen the killer, said he saw a nurse.”

“Wearing scrubs?”

“A surgical mask and gloves,” Taino said.

“Not much success harvesting fingerprints, then?”

“That’s a no, but I sent the team to the paint closet. That’s where the killer ditched their clothes.” Taino rubbed a thumbnail along their lower lip.

“Hmmm. Nothing about this speaks to an argument heated beyond control.”

“Premeditated and cool enough after the slaying to take off his shoes. Look, this is all we have for footprints.” Taino beckoned him to a stretch of floor protected by tape.

Eše'hemeo'o’s knees snicked as he lowered himself. At the correct vantage point, blood reflected skylights. Dabs and stripes lit up on the floor where before had been only darkness. There, a crescent from a heel. There, a smear from a step. Yes, this was something. Not much, but maybe enough to find a path forward for Dominik Kang.

“Let me see this under black lights.” Eše'hemeo'o’s fingertips tingled, as they always did at the beginning of a mission with lives on the balance.

An assistant left to get the skylights blocked. Another prepped the location with luminol spray. Taino took out a tablet and showed him two photos. “This is the pattern of my shoes, hatched like a waffle grill. Here is Medic Hua’s, diamond shapes like jeweled necklaces.”

The first picture was of Taino’s sole. The second, of a red boot with a tread of diminishing geometric patterns. Eše'hemeo'o could tell at a glance it had obliterated much of the evidence.

Diamonds of blood strewn across the floor. Medic Hua had trodden over the crime scene to assist the prone librarian. He could not fault her for that, as her obligation to the living came before his to the dead.

The lighting dimmed. Skylights shuttered. Shadows leaned from shelved hoes and rakes. Stretched silhouettes walked the aisles.

Eše'hemeo'o peered from the darkened place where the body had been, to the taped section of floor. “After the murder, the killer took a few steps this way, before removing the bloodied shoes.”

Black lights switched on, held by assistants. Blood splatter on the floor lit into turquoise. Glowing glyphs, what story would they tell? Would it be enough for Dominik? Eše'hemeo'o and the other detectives leaned closer.

“This pattern, a bent line, it must come from the killer’s sole,” Eše'hemeo'o said.

“And here.” Taino’s hat glowed a crystalline green. “Six sides to that shape.”

“A hexagon tread. Another design there, a V.”

“Would you call it an arrowhead?”

“No, I would not.” Eše'hemeo'o squatted then rocked forward to his toes. “There is a greater shape here, one curving line attached to two crooked. Does it reappear elsewhere?”

“I don’t see it.”

“No, we don’t have the whole tread. But we have a start.” Eše'hemeo'o straightened. “Photograph it all then switch the lights back on.”

“Can’t wait to upload this, get a few thousand eyes on it. Match the tread to a shoe, match the shoe to the killer.”

Yes, to see the greater pattern, to know the whole truth and then speak it, share it, tell it, there was no greater calling. Eše'hemeo'o sighed. “A shame it won’t matter. Vittoria’s datahounds will be rounding up the killer now. Not much call for dirty evidence anymore.”

“If the killer doesn’t confess,” Taino said, “we will need some dirt.”

“Maybe.” He turned off his drone.

“Say, Eše'hemeo'o, I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

He squared himself with the other detective.

“Sorry for not listening to you when I first got here. I didn’t have my gear, and I had to mess with the body for an ID. No, I didn’t have to but went ahead anyway, for Vittoria.”

Eše'hemeo'o hadn’t liked it, but then, he wasn’t in the majority. “If you had listened to me, how would you have apologized to Vittoria?”

“That’s the thing,” Taino said. “Whenever I try to speak to her I’m afraid I’ll swallow my teeth.”

“You’re right to fear her and respect her.” More than one jealous detective had whispered that Vittoria was in the registry for psychopathy.

“I meant no disrespect to you or the deceased, Eše'hemeo'o.”

“Sounds like you want me to absolve you. Only you can do that.”

“Yeah, yeah, by solving the case. I keep checking the forum, but still no suspects. The datahounds haven’t sniffed up the right tree yet.” They motioned with their hat for him to follow, to the sledgehammer. “What does this murder weapon say to you?”

“Less than you do.”

“Perhaps the killer wanted to make certain the first blow would be lethal. No amount of tissue regeneration could bring you back from that.”

“The sledgehammer may simply have been closest to hand. Whoever did it saw Dominik Kang turn his back and went in quick.”

“The killer could have been waiting here, out of sight of the circulation desk,” Taino said. “That reminds me. I have a few more questions for the librarian. Want to come?”

Eše'hemeo'o admitted that he did. He binned his gloves and unpeeled the rest of his clean suit.

Walking with Taino, he heard Detective Juul outside. He had volunteered to do some scary things but never public speaking. She was brave for someone so young.

The circulation desk reminded Eše'hemeo'o of a garage workbench. Hundreds of tools had left divots in its surface. Its wooden top rested on stacks of car-wheel barrels. The chair behind the desk must have also come from a vehicle.

The woman who rested there seemed of sturdy construction, considering. She sat upright, unbowed by trauma. Well-sculpted features, rich with life, her skin was many shades darker than Taino’s. The digital name tag over her head proclaimed Librarian Mery, she/her.

She asked, “Can I help with anything else?”

Taino switched their vidbot on. “Who would’ve known about the lye in the paint closet?”

“Well, painters. They’re always dropping off partially full cans.”

“Just checked,” Taino said, “and I see it’s also on the website. Is the closet ever locked?”

“No, but we keep the paint thinners on the top shelf, out of reach of kids.”

“Thank you.” Taino nodded then marched toward the back. “I’m going to make certain we dust the right spots.”

Eše'hemeo'o walked behind the desk, where there were jars full of nails, screws, and other odds and ends. From this position, shelves blocked his view of where Dominik Kang died.

“Librarian Mery, we’re about finished. May I send you home with a therapist?”

“Thanks, but I feel centered. No, really. As soon as I realized what had happened, I stayed away. Didn’t look twice. I don’t need a crime scene in my mind.”

“Most wise of you, Mery.” For a moment, he imagined pieces of the skull sliding back together and Dominik Kang rising as a skeleton to dance the New Life Ceremony.

After a hard blink, he saw the librarian gazing up at him. She beamed with faith. “Thank you for your wonderful work, Detective. I just know you’ll find whoever did this. I can’t bear the thought of it happening again.”

Mery radiated more genuine warmth than a campfire.

“Detective, are you all right?”

“Yes, sometimes it is right to weep.”

“You could have my assigned therapist,” she said. “I’ll just take a walk beside the Lakewood, pet some dogs, watch some kids playing, maybe meditate.”

That sounded lovely. “You’re free to go, but I do have one last question. Mery, may I walk with you?”

“Of course, Detective….” She peered up at his name.

“Eše'hemeo'o,” he said.

The librarian pronounced it right on the first try.

forty-five minutes, four seconds

Detective Juul stood behind the holographic podium. This would be a harder press conference, one for a more intense investigation, but she reminded herself this wasn’t about her. She would do her best to speak the truth that needed to be said for those who wanted to hear it.

Her stomach quavered. Her mouth felt dry, her knees loose, her head hot, her hands cold. Those were all correct human responses to this situation, and she honored them.

Reporters crowded, waiting for her to begin. Wide eyes were ready to absorb. Slitted gazes watched for a mistake. Fingers drummed against devices. Vidbots stared at her with their lenses unblinking. Drones hummed overhead, weaving around each other for the best position.

Among the rest listened the woman in yellow. The rapid-response communicator’s name was Zephyrine. Gratitude warmed Juul for how Zephyrine had distracted the press while the detective prepared. Now she could not let anything distract her.

Juul subvocalized. “CEX audience.”

The crowd vanished. Zephyrine blinked out of sight. Bots dissolved, leaving the sky in front of the tool library pure blue.

In their place, Juul’s retinal screens populated an audience of the victim’s family and friends. Those with cleared alibis now sat silent and attentive. They flickered but did not fidget as the program smoothed over composites from their online media. Front and center was Dominik Kang himself. Modest frame, downcast eyes, Dominik was a still life who now depended on others for animation.

Juul would do all she could to speak for him.

“CEX notes.” At the command, words in green hovered: bullet points of her speech. The first on the list was “give thanks.” More text sprawled on every nearby wall, murals detailing the known facts of Dominik’s life and his case. A new one populated on a nearby taco cart. It read that Nakamura had tracked the killer through the back door.

“Thank you for your patience,” Juul said. “We appreciate you giving us the time to confirm the facts and reach out first to those most affected by this tragedy.

“The Citizens Detective Society would like to thank the rapid responders. Their training and discipline minimized trauma, and they alerted local detectives. The League of Extraordinary Therapists graciously deployed, as did the Black Belt Defenders. Most of all, we acknowledge the United Union Library for its full cooperation and commitment to public safety.

“Today at around 2:30 PM, inside Lakewood Tool Library, a life was stolen from our community. Violence robbed us of Dominik Kang. He was a painter, friend, brother, and son. He brought color to the world through his work, and he helped power our homes through solar paint.

“Dominik Kang was so skilled at painting he did not need a drop cloth or safety tape. A few years ago, a single drip kept him from a first-place finish in speed painting and representing our city at Worlds. Starting tomorrow, Lakewood Tool Library will mount a map and photos of buildings painted by Dominik. Your comments of appreciation will be given to the grieving family and greater community.

“His life was not cut short by accident but with malicious intent. The CDS believes someone committed murder. A person of interest in the case fled the library between 2:35 and 2:40, out the back door. We will contact everyone who was in that area at that time. Please come forward with any information you have regarding this tragedy. As always, the Citizen Detective Society thanks the public for its cooperation on our mutual quest for truth and resolution.

“Lastly, the extreme nature of the crime forces us to consider psychopathy. This condition causes a lack of fear and human empathy. Responsible parents must do their part to look for the warning signs, repeated childhood bedwetting and cruelty to animals. Early detection is critical for evaluation and therapeutic intervention. Prevention of violence is a community responsibility.

“I can now take your questions.”

Juul had finished the easy part. She reached behind her to accept an offered drink of water. After a cold quench, she subvocalized. “CEX inquisition.”

Her vision transitioned. Her custom reality altered back to allow the reporters to reappear. Drones also zipped out of nothing to swarm before her.

“Detective,” a man with a blue beard said, “can you confirm the CDS acquired PD location data? And you still have failed to find a suspect?”

“The UU Library continued its tradition of sharing information for the sake of public safety. In the past several cases, location data has allowed us to apprehend a suspect within minutes. This required extraordinary cooperation across organizations and the work of many citizens. You should not expect—that is to say—Though similar efforts did not result in the same success, we will not rest until we uncover the full truth.”

“Question.” A reporter in vibrant red and gold robes lifted a hand, her skin dark. “Will the CDS release further information about the crime? Was the murder weapon a tool?”

“We have the murder weapon in evidence. The CDS will broadcast details about the case if we believe the public good outweighs the harm. Exposure to a graphic crime scene can traumatize viewers, especially the loved ones of Dominik Kang. Out of respect for them and the dead, we are not releasing media at this time. Further, it may inspire copycats.”

“Labeling kids as psychopaths and future criminals is deeply dystopian.” This reporter managed to look down his nose at her even from the back seats. “How isn’t this the latest witch hunt?”

Juul was glad she had prepared for this. “We aspire to build a society based on care, truth, and reciprocity. Because psychopaths are born blind to all three, we make allowances for them. We welcome further discussion, but the CDS believes this murder is a point in favor of the specialized and intensive program for youth who test high on psychopathic traits.”

“Detective Juul, I have a question.” This person wore sunglasses and a full head of cybernetic snakes. The vibrant vipers shone in neons of blue, yellow, and green. Between their fangs, camera lenses focused on her. Juul hardly needed to read their public name—Medusa, they/them. This journalist loved to petrify people with inquiry.

She would not let this reporter intimidate her, shock her, leave her stunned. Bring it on, Medusa.

“Psychopaths were famous in the old world as serial killers. They preyed on the marginalized and thrived in the cruelty of hierarchy. Does this murder represent a systemic failure on our part, and if not, why?”

“Serial killers targeted people no one would notice or miss,” Juul said. “That is the opposite of the case here, as the crime was executed in the most notable way possible. Further, the murder does not match any other incident on record. If we fail, and the killer does so again, the CDS will take full responsibility and launch an internal inquiry.”

“Will you commit to making the results of that inquiry public? We have a right to know, as it pertains to safety.”

If she tried to wriggle out of a commitment, Medusa would devour her. “We will release a report summary, and that will include our assessment of what societal factors, if any, contributed to this killing.”

“Last question. Can you confirm the video currently trending was leaked from the CDS? The bloody spectacle appears to be at this tool library.”

Oh no!

Juul’s throat clamped shut. Her detective assistant showed her a tablet; the top three search results displayed Taino and their green hat in the crime scene. The gut punch slumped Juul forward, pulverizing her posture, crushing her composure. Embarrassment burned up her chest and neck, spreading over her face.

She could only imagine Dominik’s mother watching the video by accident. It would obliterate her good memories of her son. His mangled pain, his ignominious end, would sear into her, seed her with nightmares, and haunt her days.

Juul wanted nothing more than to flee the press conference, run inside and scream until she found out who had betrayed the CDS and leaked the video. But she could not go, not yet. The reporters were waiting for her, along with the whole city. Firming up her mouth, Juul faced the multi-headed media and did her best to remember how to speak.

“The video…”

Juul’s friends were watching this, all the ones from the Urban Wildlife Enthusiasts and Voice Club. They were seeing her choke up. Lindsay would be exchanging smirk emojis with that smug ass, Rodriguez. Juul had to pull through here.

“The video in question, is a violation. It should not be shared by reputable channels. Broadcasting it is cruel. Any who do will be blocked from CDS press releases. I also caution all citizens from watching it.”

“May I take that as confirmation the video is real? Detective?”

“No, more further.…The CDS will notify you when we have updates.” She staggered into the library and out of sight.

six hours, ten minutes

Librarian Larsen had to get out of there. Once the nurse removed the IV and bandaged his arm, Larsen pushed up from the hospital bed. A draft shot up his flimsy robe. He had a fuzzy memory of them cutting off his pants and shirt.

“You can change right here, hijo.” His father held out his spare clothes and winked. “They saved your life. Give them a show, flex a little.”

The nurse laughed as he lent Larsen a supporting arm. A woman, a black-belt guard, turned half away. Her public name shone in cerulean: Seraphina al-Najjar.

She had stayed in sight while his family paraded in and out of his hospital room. They embarrassed him at every opportunity.

His little nephew had pointed to Seraphina’s midriff, below her tank top. Scars of some kind traced over her toned belly. “What are those?”

“Claw marks.” Seraphina curled her fingers. “From a tiger. Rawrrr!”

“You fight tigers too?”

“Anything, to protect others.”

His tía bopped the nephew on the head then leaned closer to the martial artist. “Are they from a pregnancy?”

“Also true,” Seraphina said.

Larsen wished his tía would stop talking, but it was not his day. “What does your little one love to do at the care center?”

“Run around and scream. So he’ll do great once he’s old enough for the dojo.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re right. Our Jose doesn’t have any kids yet, but we would be delighted to look after them while he’s at the library. You should see what all he can do with those tools. Saints above! And still no steady partner. Are you single, Seraphina?”

Larsen threw back the covers and made to stand. “Tía!”

She only laughed.

Larsen’s knees barely wobbled as he went to the bathroom and changed. Outside again, he asked, “Where are my boots?”

“I didn’t realize the detectives would take them.” His father gestured to a wheelchair. “Here, you can ride home in style.”

The thought of why they took his boots itched in the corner of his mind. A sore, a red welt, it would split open if he dwelled on it. So he didn’t think, he went.

Through curtains, past his father, by a robot carrying blankets, down the hall, to a waiting room where a detective sat sleeping, a neon-green hat tipped over their eyes. Larsen backed away, into a healing garden.

“Jose!” His father held up a prismatic shawl. “You forgot your serape!”

The librarian ran. Past succulents planted in whorls, beyond lilies and fluttering moths, to the other side the courtyard. He had to find his way out of a maze filled with people wearing stretched smiles and machines that whirred. His socks seemed to stick well enough to the endless tiles, and he didn’t slip or slow, even as he heard shouts that he must do so.

He couldn’t stop. The ground behind him seemed to sink, drip, and melt. Darkness tried to overtake him, but no, that’s just because it was night. Besides, he would soon be late.

For the first time that day, luck was with him. He found the exit, after a few more turns. Then Seraphina, the martial artist, dashed ahead.

“Hold up,” she said.

“I have to go.” He checked his speed and edged around her. She was small, but so were scorpions and rattlesnakes. “There’s a concert, Verdant. I can just make it. My friends—we’ve been waiting for months.”

Seraphina didn’t stop him, but she did follow. “You have to speak to a detective first.”

Larsen felt both hungry and too queasy to eat. This day had been a nightmare, one he didn’t want to remember. But if he could just get to the concert, then maybe everything would go back to normal. He could dance in his socks with Margarite, sing badly alongside Zacharias, and yell with Phil as Verdant jammed.

So Larsen kept walking, even with Seraphina’s disapproval digging into his back with every step. He passed beneath LED jellyfish lamps, beside a dazzle of roller skaters screaming and laughing, and below a Climate Force recruitment billboard. Be a Hero, it read, featuring a noble figure guiding people away from stylized wildfire.

A trolley rattled closer. He jogged to the intersection to catch it, taking care to avoid squashing a few glow-roaches on the sidewalk. The streetcar stopped, while cyclists flashed by, colorful as rolling Ferris wheels. Larsen swung onto the trolley and took a seat.

Seraphina leapt after him, landing with ease. She crossed her arms, tucking a support pole into her elbow. He was worried what she would say to him, but she seemed to be subvocalizing, her throat working without words. Ah, she must be telling the detective where he had gone. At least Larsen had a head start.

He began to feel even more uncomfortable. People were staring at him, for some reason. The man in the seat ahead even turned around to look at Librarian Jose Larsen and the public name bobbing above his head. It was weird. Passengers hopped onto the trolleys all the time. He hadn’t needed a ticket. A couple on the side of the street pointed as he went by.

Was he dreaming? He must be stuck in a scary one, where people’s eyes follow you wherever you go.

A man’s voice startled Larsen. “Are you the guy in the video?”

“What video?”

A woman reached out to show him the screen on her arm. Larsen glimpsed someone deathly pale with—

“It’s him.” Seraphina blocked his view. “Larsen, you don’t have to watch it.”

“Why am I in a video?”

“It’s not your fault,” Seraphina said. “Let’s get off at the next stop.”

“So he isn’t the sledgehammer killer?” The woman with the armscreen sounded disappointed.

The man asked, “Did you see who did it?”

“Jesus!” Larsen was on his feet, the world rocking and heaving around him more than it had any right to on a trolley. He jumped, or maybe just fell, landing on his hands and knees on the street.

“Here.” Seraphina helped him up with a grip like a wrench. “Let’s get you back to the hospital.”

“No. The stadium’s not far.” He could see where green floodlights sliced across the night sky.

He worried she would trip him or something. His stomach felt caught in a vise like a board ready to be sawed.

A gaggle of girls fell silent as he trudged by. That’s it. Even if he arrived late, he would turn off his public name. It took a while to tap out the command on the tattoo on his left arm. Done.

Now he could enjoy the night. Cicadas droned. Frogs croaked from community food forests. Bats fluttered between buildings.

The next woman crossed the street as he approached. A man winced and gave him a wide berth. The best he received were side-eyes. It wasn’t even because of his hospital socks. People weren’t looking down.

“Are you seeing this?” He stomped around, softly, to face Seraphina. “What is going on?”

“Some still recognize you, from the video,” she said. “But it’s more than that. You’re big and look like you would be handy with a sledgehammer. That’s what people are thinking about.”

“I am good with a sledgehammer. What does that have to do with…” Something needled his brain, a painful, digging, scratch-scratch-scratching. He gripped his sweaty head between his hands and began to cry. He crouched, sat down on the curb.

But, no. He just had to get to the concert. Verdant’s throat singing would wake him from this sickening sense of unreality. Why, there was the bridge leading over train tracks to the coliseum. He could hear a rising chord and a crowd’s answering roar.

Seraphina blocked his way. “Stop, Larsen. I can’t protect you in there.”

“No, no, no, that’s where I need to be. That’s where I’ll get better.” He stepped by her.

She spun around him, grabbing his arm.

The next thing Larsen knew, he was on one knee, and his hand was throbbing. It felt like Seraphina was about to break the fingers he used to fix light fixtures, layer mushroom insulation, and level fresh earthen floors.

“Stop,” she said.

“I’ll stop,” he agreed.

All the world’s music and light drained to dimness. Numb, he let Seraphina lead him away. He expected to end up at the hospital, but they didn’t go so far. He found himself sitting on a bench at the train station, shivering, wishing he had worn his serape.

A familiar woman’s voice called out. “Larsen?”

It was Librarian Mery. He asked, “Did you come to see Verdant too?”

“No, you’re the star we wanted.”

A man stood behind her, a Detective Eše'hemeo'o. He shone in Larsen’s retinal display with the radiance awarded to veteran rescuers. He looked backlit by dawn. His weather-worn face was sad.

“Librarian Larsen,” the detective said, “I am sorry to have to ask you this, now, but can you answer a few questions?”

“I can’t.” He shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

Detective Eše'hemeo'o sat beside him. Mery took Larsen’s hand, and his tears dried at once.

“I don’t want to remember.”

“Then here is what’s going to happen,” the detective said. “You and I are getting on the next train. The CDS has arranged a vacation. You’re leaving the city to help build earthships, like you did last summer. You’ll have daily therapy, and three black belts will be there to help with the houses and keep you safe.”

“Three?” Larsen blinked. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Mery said. “Not a thing.”

“You were a secondary victim in a crime, and our primary lead,” the detective said. “You may remember something. You may not. Maybe you didn’t see anything. Maybe you did. What we do know is until we catch the criminal, you’re in danger.”

Larsen looked from the detective to Mery to his feet. “I need boots.”

“On the way,” Librarian Mery said. “I put in a request at the top of the queue. Same size and make as the last pair you checked out. And if I’m not mistaken, here they are.”

A cyclist in racing clothing skidded to a stop. “Jose Larsen?”

He lifted a hand.

The bike courier handed him work boots. She tapped a command in the air, checked a heart rate monitor on her wrist, and then sped off.

“Thank you,” Larsen said to the departing cyclist and then to Mery. “Thanks.”

“Libraries are magic,” she replied.

“Get those boots on.” The detective gazed down the tracks. “That’s our train.”

Mery even helped with the laces. Now she was making Larsen’s eyes fill with a different kind of tears.

Warning lights flashed from yellow to red. A high beam rushed into the station. The train doors opened, and the platform switched to orange.

Larsen trod in with the detective. As they slid away, Mery waved, and Seraphina nodded. Out the windows on the other side, the coliseum pulsed with life.

eleven hours, thirty-nine minutes

<<CDS subforum: Murder Case, Lakewood Tool Library

<<posted by DoubleDalgliesh

<motive discussion: What if Dominik’s therapist had sexual relationship, killed him?

<comments: 140 votes: +2,011

<<posted by MuwekmaMagnifier

<motive discussion: Dominik could’ve uncovered corruption in solar-paint manufacture

<comments: 272 votes: +1,539

<<posted by femme_fantastic

<leads, leads, leads: Should recheck Dominik’s closest contacts. Likely cleared too soon by dick error

<comments: 471 votes: +963

<<posted by Datahounding12

<criminal psych: sledgehammer killer leaked crime-scene video to amplify fame

<comments: 595 votes: +933

<<posted by MalteseFalcone

<leads, leads, leads: Data doesn’t lie but detectives can. CDS infiltrated by killer sabotaging investigation

<comments: 391 votes: +264

<<posted by SmartyFeldman

<leads, leads, leads: Investigate judges who denied Dominik speed-painting win. Grudge maybe?

<comments: 49 votes: +361

<<posted by InspectorAlanGrantMe

<leads, leads, leads: Could Librarian Larsen have killed victim then mimicked fainting?

<comments: 184 votes: +159

<<posted by SilentSleuth

<leads, leads, leads: Investigate residents of 8922 Solaris Street for escalation over painting dispute

<comments: 31 votes: +70

<<posted by SlickWhicky

<leads, leads, leads: Sledgehammer = DECOY! Dominik killed by bomb implant in skull detonated remotely

<comments: 59 votes: -593

Detective Nakamura closed the display on his watch and admitted to himself he dreaded this. A hound handler had no business interviewing a potential murder suspect. True, everyone in the CDS technically had the same rank. Even commissioners were remote volunteers. Still, detectives had their preferences, their specialties. His especially wasn’t meeting a victim’s therapist in the blackout hours of night.

The CDS had selected Nakamura because he knew the therapist, had greeted him hundreds of times on dog walks. To the detective’s mind, his acquaintance with Fernando Tun only made it worse.

The elevator door opened. Chimon barked and trotted ahead of Nakamura, into an observatory. In the dimness, red lights marked a ramp leading up. The detective passed shadowy figures huddled around a massive telescope, extended through a slit in the roof. Solar panels had folded back to reveal the night sky.

The walkway ascended to the top of the Main Branch of the Library. They went onto reinforced photovoltaics. Nakamura yanked on the dog’s lead, afraid the black surface would burn Chimon’s feet. You could fry an egg on them during the day. Of course, the hour was late, and the solar panels had long since cooled. Nakamura had nothing to fear.

“Sorry, Chimon, my boy.”

Chimon greeted the night sky with barks. Wind rolled over the step pyramid. Nakamura pulled up the collar of his coat and looked around the man-made mesa. Smaller telescopes were silhouetted against starlight. He could see people but not well enough to tell which was Fernando.

“Where is he, Chimon? The gentleman who always gives you morning pats.”

The bloodhound looked up at Nakamura with droopy-faced confusion, ears and jowls swaying. Chimon wasn’t smelling anyone familiar.

Nakamura checked upwind, and sure enough there was someone waving. Wouldn’t you know it, at that exact moment the detective realized he had to pee. Nakamura had drunk two mugs of green tea at 2:15 AM just to be here and alert. Feeling uncomfortable in so many ways, he turned on his watch to record audio.

“Nakamura! I hardly recognized you without your second dog.”

“Mai needs more sleep at her age.”

“And yet I seem to be sleeping less and less,” Fernando said. The jolly therapist wore a poncho and mittens. “All the telescopes were reserved, but we can enjoy the stars like the Tzeltal, with our own eyes. This way.”

The handler followed Fernando to a stone throne carved with Mayan glyphs. “Let’s find a place big enough for us both. I see a bench over there.”

“No, sit, sit. I insist.”

“I’m no king, Fernando.”

“Then at least look. If you were on this throne, and the night were right, you would see the northern extreme of Venus align with that windmill.”

The turbine revolved with ruby warning lights. Its blades blotted out sweeps of stars.

“And to the north, the Cathedral marks a dramatic alignment between Venus, Mercury, and Mars. Above the fusion plant is the zenith of the sun at summer solstice. And a blood moon always rises over the coliseum.”

Nakamura patted the throne. Chimon jumped up and snuffled the stone. “What about Lakewood Tool Library? Any signs of ill omen there?”

“Ah, I don’t know of any, but I’m sure we could find something.”

The Lakewood channels glinted like a circuit board around the community’s floating gardens, but he couldn’t make out the tool library amidst the city’s blackness. To preserve power and dampen light pollution, all street lamps switched off after midnight. Buildings below stood out only in the barest of blocky outlines. Isolated windows shone, along with flickers from stray personal lights. His old police flashlight hung on his belt.

The night sky was bright. The River of Heaven glittered. He also recognized the dipper and fish-hook constellations. Between them were a treasure of stars. The more Nakamura looked, the more he saw.

“Fernando, I am ashamed,” he said, “after all these years of you asking me to join you up here, it took the murder of a young man.”

“I understand three in the morning isn’t for everyone. But tell me, do you remember the stars ever being so bright?”

“I suppose not. But did they twinkle more?”

“From pollution, yes,” Fernando said. “Of course, they wouldn’t have gotten any brighter to us, without our new eyes. Eh?”

As much as Nakamura hated body modification, he would’ve been as blind as Mai by now without the regenerative-vision procedure. He didn’t like thinking about it. Shifting from leg to leg, he worried how much more pressure his bladder could take. And he had to start asking Fernando tough questions. He took out a signed document and handed it to the therapist.

“This is the information release from Dominik’s personal representative?”

“His mother, yes,” Nakamura said.

“I am sorry to have put her through the trouble, but there were no grounds to unseal for health or safety. Those threats are usually obvious. Dominik’s file may disappoint you.”

“We should check it all the same.”

“But you want me to send it to you personally, not the CDS?”

Pain spiked up from Nakamura’s waist. He wondered how close was the nearest toilet. “After the leak…we’re siloing sensitive information.”

“Doesn’t that make the crowdsolving harder?”

“Well, yes, but the unauthorized video release was particularly embarrassing.” If Nakamura were fifty years younger, he would piss off the side of the step pyramid. He could see the edge, marked by flashing red lights. “Fernando, I have to ask you something.”

“I’m sure.”

Nakamura’s watch beeped, from receiving the patient file. “What did you think of Dominik Kang?”

“I was proud of his progress. We worked on rekindling his joy for painting. People kept telling him he should compete, but the more he did and lost, the worse he felt. In my notes you’ll see I hoped next we could work on Dominik’s communication and relationships.”

“Do you know anything about him romantically?” Nakamura flushed. He hadn’t meant to say it like that.

“Not much, only that he hadn’t many partners, and not for long. He seemed more interested in other things.”

“Like paint color?”

“Oh, yes,” Fernando said. “Dominik loved color theory.”

“Did he ever share frustrations about paint manufacturers?”

“Occasionally, not with individuals, but the colors themselves.”

Worse than disappointing, this was agonizing.

“May I be deeply honest with you, Nakamura?”

“Yes. Please.” Hurry.

“I’m sad. Losing a client is always tough. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep tonight, even if I tried.” Fernando stood with his hands clasped, rocking to his heels as he stared up at the stars. His eyes glistened. “You’re tempted to blame yourself, no matter what. I only find relief by focusing on the celestial miracle of life.”

“How’s that?” Nakamura felt as if a hot knife stabbed him again and again right below the navel.

“That Dominik Kang was made of starstuff. None of us would exist without nova explosions of such power in a universe so wide and magnificent the human imagination struggles to conceive of it. And all our earthly troubles, infinitesimal. Even without a telescope, I feel expansive.”

The detective feared he would soon expand beyond repair. “I’m sorry. Excuse me, Fernando, but where’s the bathroom?”

After he knew where to go, he glanced at Chimon. He was dozing on the stone seat, so Nakamura let the sleeping dog lie.

Only after relieving himself did he remember the recording. He had not been livestreaming―a second blessed relief―but he would have to edit it before passing it along with the therapist notes to Juul.

On the way back to the rooftop, a vision struck him of Chimon waking, running around in search of him, and falling off the pyramid. Nakamura jogged up the ramp, terror yanking him forward even as his stiff muscles screamed.

He found his dog, tail alive, under Fernando’s ministrations. The therapist rubbed the hound below the ears, loose skin flapping back and forth.

This man was no psychopath. Nakamura couldn’t believe that. He would ask the necessary questions and be done with it.

“I apologize again, but were you with anyone at 2:30, yesterday?”

“Yes, a client.”

“Good. Send me their name and address.” This was ridiculous. Fernando likely couldn’t even swing a sledgehammer, but the other detectives would hound them both until Nakamura asked the clincher. “Fernando, why did you have to meet with Dominik outside of therapy?”

The therapist twitched, turned from the stars to the handler. Fernando’s face looked stricken.

“Last August 28th, you were with Dominik after dark for an hour.”

As Nakamura said the words, he grew cold. Every second of the following silence racked him. This did look bad, even if Fernando wasn’t a psychopath.

The therapist’s shocked expression twisted into a smile. “Ha! Now I remember. I took Dominik to see Venus, the Great Star, the Wasp, known for its brilliant color. Red.”

Nakamura wanted more than anything to believe him. “Were you alone? Do you remember anyone who could attest to that?”

“I think I can do better, yes. I recorded that meeting, along with all the others, just like you are.” Fernando tapped Nakamura’s watch. “You will find links in the notes.”

Starlight returned in a burst of relief. There really were so many more than Nakamura remembered.

“You look unburdened, in more ways than one.”

“Yes, weightless. Feel like a breeze could lift me into orbit.” But as soon as Nakamura said it, he frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Mai. I’m going to have to put her down.”

“Not my girl! The vets can’t help her?”

“They’re what got her this far. Bloodhounds, it isn’t fair to try to hold onto them too long.” Nakamura ran a hand over Chimon’s sleek back. The dog hopped up to put his paws on the detective’s shoulders. The healthy weight made Nakamura’s legs tremble. “Sorry, Chimon, but the only way to save your mom would be to give her a whole new body.”

“Well, why not? She’s already part chrome. Then she might last a hundred years.”

“But I won’t. I’m worried enough who will take care of Chimon, as is.”

“Think about it, won’t you? Hasn’t Mai been a good dog?”

“The best.”

“Tell that to some inspired vets. I know. Say this is the dog who helped find the sledgehammer killer. Then they’ll be lining up to build her a shiny new body.”

Nakamura shook his head. But standing there, beneath the brilliant infinite, he couldn’t help thinking about it.

one day, six hours

Eše'hemeo'o gripped the forceps. With them he lifted the remains of the killer’s sweatshirt. Tatters, the clothes had once been black; now sections had dissolved to gauze. Through one hole, he could see Librarian Mery across the evidence table.

Her good nature remained impervious. Mery asked, “You will test them for DNA?”

“We will vacuum them for samples, yes.” It was always possible they would find something. The warm chime in her voice almost made Eše'hemeo'o hopeful.

They had taken the evidence to an observation theater in Lakewood Laboratory. Rows of seats waited empty; the real audience of detectives watched from cameras.

Mery sniffed above the clothes. “I can’t smell the lye anymore. We did a great job cleaning.”

“What was left of them.” He nodded to a computer terminal beside Mery. “Can you search the library loan records for black sweatshirts and sweatpants?”

“I have it preset to search for wrenches. Here we are, clothing. Accessing them now.”

With the forceps he gripped the frayed collar. He tweezed a tag into view. It was blank, all dye washed away by the lye. “We’re looking for hits within the last few months, both items checked out by the same person. Does that narrow the results?”

“To one, both women’s size small.”

With forceps and one gloved hand, he arranged the fabric flat. With a cyberspace ruler he measured the distance from the sweatpants' waist to where the splayed threads ended at the legs. “These are too big, I believe.”

“Going back a year, there’s another entry. No, those are in child sizes.”

“May I?” Eše'hemeo'o stepped behind Mery and gazed at the screen. He could see a few pictures of sweatshirts. The search parameters looked correct, but the librarian’s customized interface was too complex for him to be sure.

More than anything he wanted to trust Mery. He loved the sight of her fingers dancing over the terminal keys, her nail beds a bright pink next to the onyx of her skin. The openness of her face told him he could rely on her.

And yet she had been very close to an unexplained murder. Yes, a patron’s statement had cleared her, but they only had that one adult’s word to go by.

Eše'hemeo'o lifted each fabric remnant into its own bin and sealed them. “I will type out an official CDS information request for the Library, but the clothes aren’t the most promising piece of evidence. These may have sat in a closet for decades and never touched your system.”

“But what if they did? We have to keep looking.”

If Mery knew the clothes hadn’t come from the Library—if she knew who truly owned them—she might have said something similar. She could be covering for someone by diverting attention to unproductive lines in inquiry. No, he could not rely on her, not involve her in the analysis of this or the footprints. He would have to tell her to go before examining those results.

“Mery, I fear I was wrong to invite you here. You have been through too much already.”

“No, I feel energized and capable. What’s next?”

“It involves biological remains, blood. Would that make you uncomfortable?”

She bounced her fists on her legs a few times in thought then nodded. Her fingers flicked across the keyboard as she logged off. “Yes, I should leave. Thank you for helping me make the healthy choice.”

Good, maybe he could trust her. Unless she was making a tactical retreat now to lure in his confidence for later.

Gold makeup curved down from her eyes, patterned like Egyptian hieroglyphs. She lifted to her toes to kiss his chin. “Call me if you need anything from the Library.”

Unless she was only endearing herself to worm herself deeper into the investigation. Eše'hemeo'o walked her out of the lab then bit the inside of his cheek. He should never have gone with her around the Lakewood floating gardens, no matter how delightful it had been.

Eše'hemeo'o returned to the theater and lowered the viewing screen. From the console he logged onto the CDS forum and opened the folder containing the evidence for footprints.

He glanced up to the livestream cameras. “Have you pieced together a complete print yet?”

<<SeeAugusteDubsteppin: It’s completely breathtaking.

The subforum Footprint Analysis contained hundreds of posts. Eše'hemeo'o clicked on the one with the most upvotes. A video played. It showed a collage of the crime-scene photos. The blood under the black light shone turquoise.

<<Dadtective30: This is great work by Fidgetwinner.

The bloody prints were sectioned off by red lines, demarcated, highlighted, rotated, and patched together. A crooked pattern interlocked with a curving tread. The V designs lined up, into a ridge on the back of a greater shape.

Eše'hemeo'o had known something was there, in the tool library floor, but he hadn’t been able to quite see it. Now, here it was, on the screen. The work of hundreds of detectives across the globe had pieced together a truth. It was brilliant.

Not a whole footprint, no, but the heel. The figure was stylized, with some V’s pointing one way on its back and some the other, with a trough running between. But taken together, it looked like nothing more than an insect. Each bent line joined a curved abdomen as one of six legs.

<<SeeAugusteDubsteppin: So the perp has a beetle on his sole.

Eše'hemeo'o needed a few more breaths before he could speak. “How confident are we that this is the correct pattern? Could there be others?”

<<Dadtective30: Over 95% confident. I would go to the mat over it.

“And this insect design corresponds with a Cuatro Cuatros boot?” Eše'hemeo'o read the information off the forum post.

<<Dadtective30: Yes, a CC hiking boot.

Beginning to draft a letter, Eše'hemeo'o’s fingers pelted over the keys. His hands felt numb, and he kept making typos. Likely it was because of the weight of this evidence. This was how they would know for certain what had happened. “This is an information request for all checkouts of CC boots from the Library.”

<<SeeAugusteDubsteppin: We’ve already compiled a contact list for local cobblers. They may have more leads.

Eše'hemeo'o sent out a fleet of official CDS messages. Then he took a break, had a drink, a bite, and a lie-down. When he came back, an early list awaited him of owners of CC boots. He double-checked them for any detectives. No, none yet. If a member of the CDS happened to own a pair, they would be his number-one suspect. Someone smart enough to leave no fingerprints likely had some familiarity with crime investigations.

<<Dadtective30: I’ll send these names and addresses to the commissioners.

“No,” Eše'hemeo'o said. The CDS would assign interviews to local detectives. If one of them was the killer, that would be ruinous. Dominik Kang may never have his story told true. “I’ll handle this.”

A private message came soon from Omari. <<Dadtective30: You’re not doing all those interviews yourself, are you?

<<SunRoad: Each will be documented in accordance with CDS policy.

<<Dadtective: I know you don’t have kids, but still. You have to sleep sometime.

<<SunRoad: Dominik Kang is sleeping enough for the both of us.

one day, seven hours

Taino reread the message.

<<I know the sledgehammer killer.

<Meet me at Angela’s Square tonight.

<Don’t come alone.

It had arrived in the New Tollan CDS mailbox for anonymous tips. Taino cautioned themself that it could be nothing. It might be bullshit. But if it was legit, they could close this case. Taino could wipe away the collective memory of their many mistakes in the tool library video. When anyone saw them that’s not what they would think. Instead, people would say, “See that one in green? That’s the detective who caught the sledgehammer killer.”

Taino archived the message, before any other CDS member could check the mailbox. It wasn’t that Taino wanted to hog the credit. No, not that at all. Simply, they couldn’t be sure who they could trust. Someone had leaked the video. It could well have been a fame-mad psychopath, the killer themself. Though Taino couldn’t delete the email, they could move it to a folder others would be less likely to see.

A voice, envenomed with irritation, pulled Taino back to the present. “If you’re too busy for science, you’re welcome to come back later, or never.”

“I’m sorry.” Taino focused on the labhead. He stood with them in the Lakewood Laboratory, above a table covered with mushrooms, each with their own glass container and digital marker. “So they change color if the paint is poisonous?”

“Yes,” the labhead said, in the manner of a man who hates repeating himself.

Taino wished to bolt straight for Angela’s Square, but they had hours before the appointed meeting time. They tried to concentrate on the puffballs. The fungus was blobby and near uniform, like a class of first-year medical students in new white coats. “They grow fast.”

“Yes.”

“Wait, that one is speckled with blue. Does that mean the paint is toxic?”

“Trace specking, which indicates trace presence of copper in the three drops added to the substrate.”

“Huh.” If one of the solar paints were deeply poisonous and Dominik Kang had found out, that could have motivated his murder. Anything less wasted Taino’s time.

<<I know the sledgehammer killer.

“I should go,” Taino said. “Detective Myca will follow up with you. This is more her area of interest.”

They tagged Myca in the video before ending the livestream. Taino left, and the labhead turned his back, neither saying goodbye.

<<Don’t come alone.

The last line of the message gave Taino the most hope. You wouldn’t expect to see it, if it were a wooden duck of a tip. Anyone trying to mess with the CDS would prefer to deal with a single detective. It made more sense if the sender was honestly scared of the murderer.

The only problem was that Taino did not wish to invite a second detective. Someone in the organization had leaked the video. If Taino chose the wrong detective to trust, it might wise up the sledgehammer killer. The murderer then wouldn’t show tonight, would lay low, and Taino would lose out.

Instead they contacted Seraphina al-Najjar. They had worked alongside the black belt yesterday. She seemed dependable. Even so, Taino would try to confirm her location at the time of the murder. They wrote to her.

<<GumshoeTaino: At the tool library I noticed you weren’t dressed in your gi. I take it you didn’t come straight from the gym.

<<BulletproofSeraphina: No, I did come from the dojo. I changed.

<<GumshoeTaino: Oh. Don’t black belts prefer to deploy in uniform?

<<BulletproofSeraphina: My gi gets sweaty.

Taino could relate all too well.

They contacted her dojo while sitting down in a Mexican restaurant for dinner. Before they had finished the meal, they had secured an alibi for Seraphina. She was safe to bring along.

<<Meet me at Angela’s Square tonight.

Taino replied to the sender. They would be there.

Angela Davis Square had a reputation. A mecca for the agile, aficionados of skill toys congregated here. A class of glowstick twirlers drummed the air together, while an actual drummer smashed cymbals and tabla a few feet away on a bench. A flag clattered, dropped but swung up just as fast by a man who went on to spin the colors around him. A pair of people flipped fans to each other, laughing. Cheers rose as jump ropes spun, blurs of fluorescence in the evening like spells cast between the waving hands of sorcerers.

Lights shimmied along the spokes of a bicyclist as they bounded down a set of stairs then turned on one wheel. LEDs glittered along the lengths of blades; a storm of swords flourished in the hands of dancers. Taino gave them a wide berth, but Seraphina seemed comfortable taking a closer look. Another couple tangoed between planters, their shoes flashing. More vaulted across the plaza in an Aztec dance of joy, with neon feathers and shells rattling on their ankles.

Taino expected these typical denizens. What surprised Taino was the reaction to themself. People interrupted their play to say, “You were in that video, weren’t you?” Or, “Can we get a pic?” Or, “Caught him yet?” It had happened constantly for the last day, and if it continued for a hundred years, Taino didn’t expect to get used to the oppression of interruption.

Over the last twenty-four hours people insisted on showing Taino the video, as if they had not been there. Pedestrians turned around and followed to ask questions Taino couldn’t answer. They could no longer blend in with an audience. Performers picked Taino out.

For those reasons they had hesitated to wear their green coat and hat. They still had, in the end, so the anonymous party could identify them. They kept hoping an approaching person would be their contact. It hadn’t happened yet. Taino went to the Square’s largest crowd. If anyone could hold attention and leave Taino to their discretion, it would be the champion with the yo-yo.

She practiced every night. Though Taino rarely had business here, they still knew of her. Her public name included the title of World Champion, but even without it there could be no mistake. As a reward, she had earned an exceptional program. In cyberspace, her yo-yo appeared to be a comet. It streaked and shimmered as it zoomed between her legs, orbited her shoulders, and arched overhead. Not only did it burn an afterimage in Taino’s vision, its tail of radiance sifted down and from each fallen spark grew something fantastical.

Near the champion’s feet sprouted carnivorous plants with real fangs, toadstools complete with dancing fairies, and sunflowers that bloomed bright as suns. It went on and on. She was creating a cyber garden that would last until morning.

Taino flinched when someone tapped them on the shoulder.

“You got my message?” The woman wore a mask, a pandemic one made of black cloth. She spoke softly, but her eyes were loud with mischief.

Taino glanced at Seraphina, was glad to see she seemed attentive, not captivated by the yo-yo champion. “I didn’t come alone.”

“Good,” the masked woman said. “He’s walking this way.”

“He is?”

“Yes.” The woman led them across the square. She tried to hide it, but Taino saw her tap a command near her thigh.

Something was wrong. This didn’t feel right. Taino would’ve turned around right there, if not for Seraphina so near. The sense of prickling alarm deepened as the masked woman pointed to a slender man.

He wore a trench coat, like Taino’s but grey. Oddly, it hung off him in an inhuman way. As though on a hanger, the immense piece of fabric fluttered loose, in no measure a fit. In it, he looked closer to two kids stacked on each other’s shoulders, a sinister cartoon.

Taino swore. “What in the oily hell?”

Closer now, they could better judge how tall the man was. He could only be compared to Vittoria. Where she was as substantial as an antagonist from a Norse myth, this man seemed to have no substance. A nightmare, he did not even appear to have feet under his coat so much as hooves. All the more ominous, he wore a surgical mask.

The murderer had worn the same thing.

He spotted Taino. Their eyes met. He turned and drifted away. Unbuttoning his coat, he began to move faster in the other direction.

“Stop,” Taino said. “I’m with the CDS and I need—”

He ran.

“Get him!” Taino’s voice spiked altogether too high. As for themself, they stayed still. Moving felt impossible. They could only stare.

He shucked off the grey coat. It collapsed onto the flagstone, revealing why the man looked slender. He was fit and had been wearing something ten sizes too big, to cover legs extended by spring-heeled stilts.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Seraphina sped after him. She had to take five quick steps to match a single one of his augmented strides. But her cadence must have been more than five times faster because she closed the distance and reached out to snatch his elbow.

The spring-heeled man flipped out of reach, beyond her and over a planter of moonflowers.

With gasp, Taino felt life return to their limbs. They staggered forward. Taino couldn’t let this man get away, but they knew they could never catch him unaided.

Close by, a bystander rolled to a stop on their unicycle. She gawked at the black belt chasing the man on stilts. Blinking, the woman switched on a camera attached to her headband.

“May I borrow your wheel?” Taino asked.

The woman turned her lens toward them. “Oh, you’re you!”

“Too true.”

“Fuck yes! Take it.”

Taino set their feet on the unicycle. It wasn’t one of those retro contraptions with moving pedals. A practical model, the electric unicycle was similar to the one Taino rode as a kid. They simply had to sync with its motor and keep balance.

The wheel began to spin. Lights shone in a revolving rainbow.

Taino lurched forward, waving one arm ahead, another to the side. Their dinner of BSF burrito was an uncomfortable counterweight. Taino had to swerve around a juggler and between two planters. They began to tilt too far. This was harder than they remembered.

The unicycle shot out from under them.

Taino took a dive onto the stones. They landed hard, and trying to push upright, caught a tail of their trench coat under their fist. They heard a rip, along with voices.

“No! I missed their fall. Was recording the bocker.”

“I caught it,” one bystander said, grinning at Taino. Nearby, the woman in the black mask also was videoing.

Another person with a hand camera asked, “Is this staged?”

“Can’t be. Look who it is.” A woman pointed to Taino.

“Well, the other video might’ve been staged too.”

On their feet, Taino hurt all over, especially on the inside. Maybe Seraphina was faring better.

The black belt made another grab. The man on stilts jumped up a wall, somersaulting onto a roof. The building had hanging gardens on progressively higher floors. He leaped up to a second story, then a third.

Cheers followed him from a gathering crowd. “Ha! That black belt is racing inside after him.”

Taino hobbled onto the street in time to see the man jump from building to building.

Someone called out, “What is this?”

What indeed? Whether or not the spring-heeled man was the sledgehammer killer, he had a lot to answer for. Taino wanted to catch him, more than anything. They would have to call in the calvary.

They speed dialed the number given to them by the medic with the motorcycle. “Is this Hua?”

“Zephyrine. We’re off duty right now.”

“Damn! Is she near her bike?” Taino clambered onto a public bicycle. They started pedaling. Two wheels were so much easier.

“This is the detective?”

“Yes.” Taino panted. At an intersection, they glimpsed the spring-heeled man midair. Curved stilts spun over his head, still masked. He landed upright on the road and began jumping away. “I need her speed.”

“Send me your loc.”

“Linking you.” Even if the medic couldn’t make it, Taino perhaps could handle this. They were gaining on the spring-heeled man. He was having to duck beneath vegetal awnings, the draping greenery crisscrossing the street. Taino rode well beneath. They might be rusty, but the bike was well maintained. Another half block, and they—

Their coat caught in the wheels. Fabric ripped. Taino lurched, clenched the breaks, and skid.

The bike remained upright. Taino counted it as a win.

“Hey!” Seraphina called from a rooftop. “Where did he go?”

Taino tugged his coat from the wheels and pointed.

To their horror, Seraphina slid herself into a skywell. But then, it was only a single-story building. The black belt must be fine, tumbling with the cooling air to the ground floor.

Taino pedaled on. Their muscles felt stretched and tangled like a marionette’s strings. They passed a home with windows beaming with full-pane stickers of Inca art. A stylized sun seemed to smirk down at Taino with its eyes red and mouth canted.

Ahead, Seraphina sprinted after the spring-heeled man. He changed his gait, to something resembling a jack-rabbit’s hop. They were racing back toward Angela’s Square and all the gathered cameras.

This was obscene. Who was he?

Taino’s tattered green coat reminded them of the grey one the man had left behind. Luckily, they had a reference number in the case file for Librarian Mery. “Hello, can—can you tell me who loaned out a ridiculously large trench coat?”

“What size?” Mery asked over the line. “And are you well? You sound—”

“For the coat, put as many X’s as you can before the L for large.”

“I found the item,” Mery said. “Picked up at one-thirty today, but before I tell you who rented it, I need a good reason.”

“He impersonated the sledgehammer killer.”

“Is that what’s happening at Angela’s Square?”

“How did you know?” Taino asked. “Oh no. Is it trending?”

The spring-heeled man vaulted over the heads of a clump of people recording him.

“Well,” Mery said, “only a few videos.”

Not again!

In the corner of Taino’s eye, multiple exclamation points warned them they were being tagged in the CDS’s local group chat. After taking a resigned breath, Taino got off the bike and opened the prompt.

<<Juul43: Hey, GumshoeTaino, what are you doing chasing PowerAL?

<<GumshoeTaino: Is that the man with jumping stilts? His ID is switched off.

<<Juul43: Yes. Average internet blowhard, and he’s milking you for millions of views.

For the first time, Taino noticed the vidbot tracking the spring-heeled man. It may have been following him the whole time. Taino wished they could shoot it out of the night sky.

They winced at the sound of tires.

With a powerful whirr, a motorcycle skidded in front of the spring-heeled man. Hua was riding solo, with her red helmet but plain clothes. Her emergency lights flashed. She blocked his path.

Oh no, this would only make it worse.

The spring-heeled man leapt. His legs spread to the sides, performing a perfect split. He passed over her. Hua tilted her helmet back as he flew above. The crowd loved it, hooting, clapping, aiming their cameras after him. He had a bigger audience than the yo-yo champion.

In that moment, Taino understood why the phony message had told them to bring friends. One detective alone would’ve been helpless to stop him, would’ve made poor viewing.

Taino watched the man get away. They looked from him bouncing into the distance, to the group chat, and back. The awful thing was, Taino knew they were in bigger trouble than him.

<<GumshoeTaino: It was an anonymous tip that turned out sour. But I couldn’t not investigate. What if it had been a sweet one?

<<Mycaloth00: You didn’t have to go by yourself, shitheel!

<<Juul43: I could’ve told you not to chase PowerAL.

<<Dadtective30: He can’t be the murderer. At that time he was livestreaming himself chugging protein shakes.

<<Mycaloth00: Changed my mind. He’s definitely guilty.

<<GumshoeTaino: To be fair, this never would’ve happened if the CDS video hadn’t leaked. Too much media attention. And I did have backup, a black belt.

<<the_adVeecate: Then you managed to embarrass two organizations in one night.

<<GumshoeTaino: I am sorry. I’ll make it right.

<<the_adVeecate: At least it was you again and not another detective who got pranked. Idiocy may be attributed largely to you rather than the entire CDS.

Taino tapped a button in cyberspace and closed out the group chat. They firmed up their jaw and tried to face everyone. There were too many, all around with their cameras. This would be a good time to explain what happened, how PowerAL and an accomplice had lured Taino here with falsehoods. That didn’t sound too good in Taino’s head, outsmarted by a teen on spring stilts. If they were Juul, Taino would have found better words. But they weren’t, and they didn’t dare try.

The best they could do was limp to Seraphina to apologize. “So sorry about this. Shouldn’t have called you to chase him.”

“Wrong guy or something?”

“Yes, the surgical mask made me think he was our man. Of course, we broadcasted the killer had been wearing one, and they used it to play me.”

“Welp, if that’s all, I should get home and stretch.” She didn’t even sound out of breath.

Medic Hua coasted closer on her bike. “Should I go after him?”

“N-no,” Taino said. “False alarm. We’ll catch the right man next time.”

Hua booted down the motorcycle’s kickstand with more force than was likely necessary. “Don’t call unless you’re sure. This bike isn’t for joy rides.”

“No more mistakes,” Taino said. “Promise.”

“I bailed on a game to get here. My teammates probably all died.”

Taino continued to apologize. People nearby kept recording.

Seraphina jogged off. Hua rode away. The women left Taino alone in a crowd.

On the way out, they passed the grey trench coat, discarded and forgotten. They considered picking it up, but it was hardly evidence in the sledgehammer case. It belonged to the Library. Let someone else return it.

one day, nine hours

Advocate Vittoria rattled the door with her knock. Carvings of eagles and archers on horseback embellished the wood.

While waiting for an answer, she typed a message to Detective Juul.

<<the_adVeecate: In position?

<<Juul43: Yes. No back door. Watching windows and roof.

Vittoria rapped two knuckles against the door. Delays of any kind felt like death by degrees, and wasting time due to mistakes by other detectives, that she despised. She ground her staff into the street.

The house opened at last. A couple blinked up at her, one woman in pajamas, and a man with a long mustache.

“CDS business.” Vittoria summoned the crest above her holo-orb. “Is Detective Bataar Faucher in?”

“Um, yes. I’ll get Bataar. Will you come in? That is, can you, I mean, would you like to come inside?” The woman chewed her lip, glancing from Vittoria to their smallish door.

“I will await Bataar’s pleasure here.”

Inside the shadows of the cob home, a girl peered at Vittoria. Squealing, the child ran with her hands waving. “Big! Big! Big!”

The young man she wanted came clear eyed. She hadn’t caught him sleeping. Vittoria knew he was eighteen, the minimum allowed to join the CDS. He was young enough to be proud of his facial hair, independent of its appearance. His mouth fell open at the sight of her.

“Bataar Faucher, can you tell me why I am here?” She held him paralyzed with a smile. Reaching in, she gripped his shoulder. Her hand slid over his collar bone, and her fingers played their way around his neck.

“Advocate V. Vittoria.” His face lifted in something close to euphoria. Then it collapsed, from grin to puzzlement, from frown to grimace, from shock to horror. “You know I leaked the video.”

She saved a recording of his confession in her staff. It had taken far too long to find the first posting online, trace the dummy account to the Solfall Community, and determine the likeliest dick. She could only take consolation in the fact that he hadn’t been on the other side of the world. Vittoria wouldn’t wish to trust this task with another.

Stroking the skin above his jugular with a cybernetic nail, she asked, “Where were you at 2:30 on Tuesday?”

His mouth opened and closed three times. He swallowed twice. “Playing wall ball with friends.”

“Tell me their names and where to find them.”

“Songaa and Morgan. They probably just left a gaming cafe.”

“Share your screen with me then message them.” Vittoria gripped Bataar’s arm and guided him outside. “Tell them to meet you at the Solfall, and it’s a matter of life and death.”

“Right now?” He tapped on a basic device on his forearm. “It’s almost blackout.”

“All the more reason to hurry.” Vittoria walked him through twisting lanes between the hive of earthen homes. Light from perovskite windows cast shapes of various colors. She strode through a circle of orange.

Behind them, Juul and her detective assistant fell in along with a black belt. A shaft of electric lime crossed them, revealing Juul’s uncharacteristic scowl.

Best to keep her away from Bataar. She might do something rash.

“I’m going to get booted from the CDS,” he said, “aren’t I?”

“You do make a strong case for raising the minimum age,” Vittoria said.

Ahead of them towered the sculpture of Solfall. A black monument rising high above rooftops at night, during the day its photovoltaic cells soaked up power on its sunny side. On its shady face, water flowed within and without, purifying it for the community.

“That’s them!” Bataar pointed to a pair of teenagers.

One actually gave him a thumbs-up before detectives isolated them for cross-examination. Vittoria remained with Bataar. She shifted her staff to the crook of one arm so she could finish up her sortition request.

He insisted on speaking. “I just thought the video was too incredible not to share.”

“You broke the agreement you signed to join the CDS.”

“But it went viral.”

“Which makes it worse.”

“People can’t stop talking about the sledgehammer killer. It’ll help the case.”

“Debatable and not your call.” She gave him her best silencing stare. It bottled him up for a while.

But not long enough. “Do you play wall ball? Bet you’d be great at it.”

“I would be.”

Blackout hit. The plaza dimmed. Bataar stiffened. The stars brightened, to either side of the pillar of Solfall. Vittoria tapped her staff, and its crystal glowed purple.

Another figure walked into her ring of light. The assistant detective’s face shone violet. “He’s clear of the murder.”

Vittoria nodded and pulled Bataar back in the direction of his home. “You have made the mistake of crossing me twice. First, by exposing Detective Juul to a traumatic social assault. Second, by absorbing resources during a murder investigation without being the murderer yourself.”

“S-sorry.” In her light he took on the mien of a hairy plum.

“Apologize with your full cooperation.” She sent him a document. “That’s a list of your options for restorative justice. Commit to one and meet me at the Lakewood Council, tomorrow at 6:00 PM. Be prompt.”

She expanded a street map from her orb then imploded it out of sight. Its light caught on the hairless tail of a possum. The creature scrambled away from her, down a drainage gate.

Vittoria deposited Bataar at his doorstep and left.

The teen had been right about one thing. People were curious about the investigation. Crowds showed up the next day at the Lakewood in the rain, even though Bataar’s trial was only tangential.

Very well. Vittoria wasn't opposed to spectacle. This community, like many, believed their sortition council should be in the most public place possible. Bless them. They would meet on a wooden platform on the open water, at the center of their floating gardens. She strutted across the wharf. One long step took her over the edge, between two canoes. With a splash and an onlooker’s gasp, she began to wade.

The lake was not so deep, and she sounded the ground ahead with her staff. She wore a mermaid dress on loan from the library. On her, it was small enough to be a swimsuit. The waters rose just above her waist as she made her way between human-made islands, the chinampas.

On floating reed mats, maize flourished. Unfolding ears revealed troves of ruby and sapphire kernels. Raindrops beaded over nearby tomatoes. Fruit and vegetables of all sorts burst from the buoyant cornucopias. Above them hung the greatest treasure: cacao pods of amber and garnet.

The food forests grew seven to ten harvests a year, depending on who was boasting.

Vittoria loved the coolness flowing over her skin, punctuated by lively currents of fish. Droplets trickled down her shoulders and chest, delightfully. The floating gardens smelled of fresh silt and lush life. Frogs sang for her. A swan bowed as it dipped its black beak into the water.

Most of all, she adored the Lakewood as a splendid backdrop. She imagined she was wading through the watercolors of a painting, a masterpiece of paradise. Hundreds watched as she crossed the canal to the platform stage. Rather than posts driven into the lakebed, five living trees anchored it.

Only the garden bots ignored her. They walked on long legs like storks, folding down to taste test the soil’s acidity then scan for bugs among the avocados and bean pods. She could forgive the robots for their lack of sentience.

Canoes carried sortaries to the stage. Others paddled closer to see. Boatfuls of onlookers made room for Vittoria, except for one.

A man in shorts and a bright solar shirt bobbed near. His gaze roved from her to her public name. “Vittoria, I couldn’t help but wonder, are you—”

“Soon to be late to a meeting.” She nudged his canoe aside with her staff. “You will have to excuse me.”

Behind her, she heard him mutter. “Stuck-up freak!”

She saved that exchange. Without breaking stride, Vittoria activated a program that would crack his identity, message him in one hour, and inform him he must produce proof of therapy for his behavior or face censure.

Vittoria lay her staff flat on the platform and pushed herself up. Fourteen sortaries awaited her, along with Bataar. One woman in a raincoat said, “The Lakewood Sortition Council recognizes Advocate Vittoria Götadottir, as well as sortaries from the Solfall Community.”

Of the seven voting members from Lakewood, one was an aunt of Dominik Kang, another a close neighbor of his parents, and a third was Librarian Larsen’s sister. Vittoria could count on their strong support. Unfortunate that all of Bataar’s sortaries had shown up. She began, projecting her voice over the waterways.

“I speak for the Civilian Detective Society. Bataar Faucher broke our bylaws in releasing a graphic video of an ongoing investigation. This unauthorized act risked traumatizing the public and inflicting greater harm to the Kang and Larsen families, along with other members of the Lakewood community.”

Reporters held neon umbrellas over their cameras. What a shame the rain made electronic amplification annoying. With a little help, Vittoria believed she could be heard from the far side of the lake.

“For justice, we ask this council to assign Bataar Faucher ten years, twenty hours a week, of community service, working in data security. That is all.”

A sortary with dripping black hair motioned Bataar forward.

“I am sorry for what I did. I know now that it was wrong. I apologize to the CDS and the families of the victims.” His stiffness made it obvious he was reading the text she had sent him off his retinal display. “I accept with gratitude Advocate Vittoria’s recommendation of community service, to repay my debt.”

Next, a sortary from Solfall went to center stage. “We are proud of our son for taking responsibility for his actions. His quick mind and relentlessness will suit him well in data security. We guarantee he will have everything he needs to succeed. He may come to enjoy the work and continue, after his allotted sentence. That said, we believe ten years is too long for one so young. Six will better serve for justice.”

After a discussion between the sortaries, one wearing mock sharkskin turned to Vittoria. “Advocate, will Bataar continue as a detective?”

“No, I hoped his permanent expulsion would go without saying.”

The first motion for ten years of service failed, seven votes to seven. It only took two more tries before the sortaries passed a sentence for eight. The council ended without applause, apart from the rain.

Vittoria turned away and took a long step to a floating garden. A willow held this one in place. Flowers covered it, for a harvest of joy, she guessed. Right now, their petals were closed, paintbrushes pointing upward. They tickled her legs as the ground dipped and sank. Some tree roots spilled over the edge of the reed mat, off the artificial island, into the canal. She parted the willow branches. Juul got up from the trunk, where she had watched the proceedings.

“Thank you.” The detective embraced Vittoria, her head below the advocate’s breasts.

“This was nothing. I can’t wait to speak against the sledgehammer killer.”

“It was something for many.” Juul’s makeup identified her as having friends long on creativity and short on mastery. Bright lines crossed her face seemingly at random amidst pigment miasmas.

Vittoria would have to keep insisting on her own makeup artists for when the detective spoke for the CDS.

Juul scampered up the tree, looking in that moment very much the teenager or younger. Hands on branches, she climbed to meet Vittoria’s gaze. “We haven’t collected solid sightings of the killer after leaving the library. Likely the criminal got lucky. But we have compiled a chain of witnesses who saw someone dressed in black and a surgical mask, heading toward the crime scene, from the coliseum station, southbound platform.”

While Vittoria thought, a lizard darted around the tree trunk. “The bloodhounds tracked the killer’s path to that train. We assumed he departed to the south but more likely he arrived from the north. The paint-related leads are less appealing now. They’re not from that direction. That is, if the killer didn’t circle the whole city on a train to spite me.”

Her stomp sent a ripple along the garden. Anger rose in her like a limitless geothermal. She reveled in the heat; the intoxicant was more potent than any of her past vendettas.

“I am making this case my personal responsibility.” Vittoria forced her voice low. “Because I believe the killer slew someone they didn’t know, simply to evade my datahounds.”

Juul looked skeptical.

“The killer knew CDS standard practice, to use proximity data to find suspects. Now he sits smug under our noses, smirking at the time I’ve squandered. I will upend his life of comfort and tear out his hubris.” In thinking to outplay her, the killer had made a horrible mistake. Bataar had been an annoyance. This was a challenge.

“Should we message the group chat to search for motives against you?”

“Don’t bother. Taino would see it, and they’re almost as bad as Bataar. We’ll solve this ourselves, just the dicks we trust.” Vittoria stepped back in the lake then offered up her hands to Juul.

The detective accepted, and the advocate carried her on her shoulder over the canal.

two days, two hours

Eše'hemeo'o needed this final interview to be the one. He and black-belt Seraphina entered an apartment block in the Cathedral District.

Opening a stairwell door, he checked his caffeine biomonitor on his retinal display. Tapping his pectoral implant through his shirt, he gave himself two more micro doses. Just had to be alert for a few more minutes.

“This is the last interview,” Eše'hemeo'o said.

Seraphina flowed upstairs after him. “So, this has to be the man we want?”

“No, our list of boot owners isn’t omniscient. All-encompassing, I mean. But we can hope.” This library loan entry had a promising note. The patron, Felix, had reported the boots missing two days before the murder. The temporal proximity might mean something, especially since the tracking chip in the boots was broken at around the same time.

They were searching for someone with enough forethought to avoid the datahounds and Nakamura’s real ones. The perpetrator may well have pretended his boots had disappeared for deniability.

Or it may be coincidence.

Eše'hemeo'o checked the address again. Yes, third floor. He held the stairwell door open for the black belt. “If I may ask, Seraphina, what do you hope for in these situations? A confrontation?”

“Nah, I prefer longer fights, more technical ones.”

“Then why do you volunteer?”

“With the CDS? Well, if all you do is go to tournaments, that’s a bit silly, isn’t it?”

“Regardless, I appreciate you being here.” Eše'hemeo'o lifted his hand to knock. He flinched when the apartment opened first.

A man stood shirtless, with an infant in one arm. His name Felix shone tangerine above his head in cyberspace. His clean-shaven chest was taut but gave the impression less of fitness than emaciation. Felix blinked at the detective and the black belt. “What’s this?”

Eše'hemeo'o introduced himself and asked if Felix had time for a few questions.

“Not really.” The man picked up a buggy with his arm not carrying the baby. “Need to get a run in before the champ’s power nap.”

“This is important,” Eše'hemeo'o said. “Have you seen the news reports concerning the Lakewood Tool Library?”

“Watching the news is a waste of time.” Felix eyed Eše'hemeo'o with an expression that made it clear he was also a waste.

“Perhaps we can come with you. Here, I’ll get the door.”

“Got it.” Felix closed it with one foot, balancing with the infant. He was wearing trainer shoes.

“We’re here about your boots that went missing. Do you think you could’ve misplaced them, somewhere inside?”

“I don't misplace anything. Someone took them. Don’t like to say it but there it is.” Felix tapped the elevator button with an elbow.

“Where did you leave your CC boots when you’re not wearing them?”

“Shoe rack. Didn’t you see it, right there behind me?”

Eše'hemeo'o had not. The immediate appearance of Felix had unbalanced him. “Who has access to your apartment?”

“Anyone, I suppose. The community sitters come most often.”

“Can you give me a list of their names?” Eše'hemeo'o worried the man would refuse.

“Yes, my memory is excellent.” Felix rattled off twenty or so names.

Eše'hemeo'o checked his vidbot, and, yes, it was recording. “And your door, do you lock it?”

“You tell me. We just left together.”

“Hmmm. Not that I saw.”

“There you go. Memory. Gotta exercise it just like everything else.” Felix backed out the main doors of the building and started setting up the baby buggy. When Eše'hemeo'o stepped in to help, Felix made a sound like a hiss.

“One last question.” Eše'hemeo'o’s stomach clenched. This was it. “Where were you last Tuesday at 2:30?”

“I lost my boots before then, which you should know. Memory. Telling you, it’s key. That’s the problem with videoing everything. Your brain gets lazy.”

“We’re not advocating for slothful cerebellums at the CDS. We simply like documentation.”

“CDS? You said you were with the Library.”

“I did not say that.”

Felix frowned as he strapped-in the baby to the carriage. “You definitely did. So who are you really?”

“Eše'hemeo'o, with the CDS.” He mashed a button on his chest, and his badge appeared before him in cyberspace. “I don’t want you to think I tried to trick you. We can review the video from a minute ago.”

“No need. You made an error. Let’s move past it.”

Now Eše'hemeo'o couldn’t wait to check the tapes. He was tired but couldn’t see himself making that kind of mistake. Tempting as it was to load the clip to wipe away Felix’s smarmy grin, best to stay focused. This could’ve been a delay tactic. “Then, are you ready to tell me where you were last Tuesday?”

“I don’t have to answer, you know. You can’t compel me.”

“No, I cannot. However, I will invite the murder victim’s grieving family to come ask you the same question. I would hate to disturb them, but I believe they would prefer answers.”

“Sounds like harassment.”

“Or you could have watched the news, to understand why this is important.”

Both Felix and the baby scowled at the detective with superior expressions. The familial resemblance was obvious. The longer he refused to answer, the guiltier he seemed.

“We can go our separate ways as soon as you tell me where you were,” Eše'hemeo'o said. “Unless you can’t remember.”

“Last Tuesday at two I was with the champ at Elena’s birthday party.”

“Did you take pictures?”

“Did I ever!” Felix pulled a screen from a pouch in the back of the buggy. He flicked a few times then flashed a selfie of himself and his baby smiling. In the background, holographic balloons floated along with dinosaurs in party hats. It was a local virtual room.

“May I see the timestamps? Very good.” This was bad. This alibi seemed impervious. “And can you tell me the names of two other parents present?”

Felix told him ten, seemed to take pride in doing so.

Eše'hemeo'o took three grounding breaths. He let expectation evaporate from him like so much morning dew. “Thank you, Felix. Enjoy your run.”

“What’s left of it.” Felix glanced sideways, perhaps at a cyber watch, then jogged off, buggy rolling ahead of him.

The day dimmed, and Eše'hemeo'o felt a crushing, a folding up of possibilities into a little ball of waste paper. This was his fatigue. He knew that. But it still felt awful.

After watching him go, Eše'hemeo'o turned step by step back to Seraphina. The black belt was smirking, though she did her best to tamp down her face.

“Sorry,” she said. “What’s next?”

“I’ll send follow-up messages to the other parents at the party, to make certain Felix was where he appeared to have been.”

“And then?”

“I expect I’ll have to give up a little and rest.” Eše'hemeo'o reviewed the vidbot’s recent footage. “Here it is.”

“What’s that?” Seraphina squinted at the display, a square in cyberspace.

He replayed the clip, adjusting the volume up. He clearly heard himself say, “I’m Eše'hemeo'o with the CDS.”

two days, six hours

Detective Omari had almost reached the meeting place when he was overtaken by Medusa.

Cyber vipers splayed from the reporter’s head. Fanged mouths hissed open, and as many cameras trained on him. “Detective, what progress has the CDS made identifying the sledgehammer killer?”

Omari stumbled over the rain-slick sidewalk. He felt a slurry of cold grit sliding up through his intestines, freezing, scraping. “N-no comment.”

The focus of the cameras bore into his back as he hustled away. How had Medusa even known he was a detective? It wasn’t in his public profile. And if the reporter had been livestreaming, now everyone knew.

Spluttering for breath in the shelter of a solar-paneled bus stop, he realized he had run the wrong way. One last look at his map, then he pushed his phone deep in his pocket. He wouldn’t backtrack, absolutely not, and risk a second venomous question. Instead, he circled around the block. Ah well, at least he wouldn’t be leading them straight to Taino.

Glancing up, his face was pelted with rain. A dark shape slunk over a rooftop. Eyes reflected green. Felt like two lasers aimed at him, and he jumped. Probably a bobcat, but Omari wasn’t waiting to find out.

He reached the watery glow of the diner, went in, and banged the door shut behind him.

As soon as Omari took off his raincoat, he realized baby’s spit-up stained his shirt. A paleness streaked over the fabric. Yes, it didn’t smell the best. He wondered if he should keep his raincoat on, to hide it, but that would mean dripping all over the diner and its pink seats.

Rain streamed down the restaurant windows. From the inside, the stencil on the glass read reniD s’yduJ. There was no Judy in sight. The man behind the counter had the public name Cook Berito. His hairnet was stuck with a crown of parrot feathers, all cyan. He danced to music only could hear; implants lit up his ears, indicating high volume.

Looked like Taino hadn’t arrived yet. The place only had one other patron, at a bench seat. A jukebox rested silent. Within a glass counter flickered holograms of various pies and sundry sandwiches.

“Hey, Omari.” The other patron called out. Their face was roundish and vaguely familiar.

“Oh! Sorry, Taino. Didn’t recognize you without your hat.”

“That’s why I’m not wearing hat or coat.” They had hidden their public name too. “Too many people stopped me on the street, asking about the investigation.”

“Sure it’s not because the coat needed cleaning after last night’s chase?”

“That too. It’s at the tailor’s.”

Omari slid down the opposite bench. The seat cushion squeaked. “Of course you would know a place like this. Feels like I’m in an old movie.”

Taino smiled sadly.

The cook danced out from behind the counter and rapped their table. The lights in his ears dimmed as he cut the music volume. “Friend of yours, Taino?”

“Yes, another detective.”

“Well now! I have some traditional beef if you want sliders.”

Taino held up a hand. “I’ll save that to celebrate. We haven’t closed the case yet.”

“My husband says my tastes are horribly basic,” Omari said. “I like lab meat better. Do you have caramel-apple beef?”

“Surely do.”

Omari scanned the digital menu. “I’ll have it with fries and a beer.”

“Bug burger for me, please,” Taino said. “And a strawberry shake.”

After the man in the feather crown danced off, Omari leaned forward to the other detective. “How have you been holding up?”

“Fine. Fine. Well, not great at all, really. Think I strained something in last night’s chase.” Taino pressed their side. “My pride.”

“No one was injured, at least. Not that I’ve watched all the footage. I mean, I assume I would’ve heard if someone was hurt.”

Taino nodded absently. “Haven’t been sleeping too, just thinking of the leads we have and none of them good. By the time we spool those threads, we’ll probably find a second stiff.”

“Another data point would be great.”

“Not for the person who makes it.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Omari pulled out a tablet and started loading files. “I haven’t been sleeping either, but that’s my normal. I ran out of analysis ideas from the Library’s proximity data, so I dipped into public files.”

Taino rubbed their hands together. “What did you find?”

“So, if it’s a psychopath we’re dealing with, they often start by killing animals. I sifted records and found a cluster of some pretty grisly shit.” On the tablet, a map displayed the Cathedral community, peppered with data points and timestamps. “Between ten and thirteen years ago, seven pets were reported dismembered, beheaded, or worse. A boy found one. The rest were laid out on their owner’s doorsteps.”

“Fuck! They never thumbed a suspect?”

“I guess not, but it did stop. Anyway, this is a substantial finding but I didn’t know what to do with it.”

“You haven’t shared it with the other datahounds?”

Omari breathed in the rich scent of cooking meat. The grill had fired up. “They’re pretty biased toward V’s proximity data. Don’t think they’d like this.”

“Really?”

“Well, that, and I don’t want the killer to see it, if they’ve infiltrated the CDS.” It didn’t feel good, knowing anything you posted could be read by the very person you’re trying to catch. Omari often frowned at forum threads, wondering if the killer was guiding the conversation to dead ends.

Taino might even be the killer, luring him here to see if they had anything to fear. But Omari had to trust someone.

He said, “I hoped we could use the data to catch the killer by surprise.”

“How, though? These killings happened a decade ago, and if they didn’t see anything then we’re not likely to now.”

“The Cathedral is…” Omari trailed off as the cook brought their meals. The man restrained his dance steps while holding the plates.

Eating a fry first, Omari savored the salty softness. He tucked in. His steak was just how he liked it: crisp, candied, and without apology. The beer’s bitter coldness refreshed his mouth and made the next forkful all the sweeter.

Taino crunched, munched, and then wiped mustard from their lips. “So, if the killer still lives in the Cathedral community, does that point us to any particular leads?”

“Away from most of them, actually.”

“We’re missing something. Some question we haven’t asked, some motive we haven’t considered.” Taino sipped their strawberry shake, leaving a bright mustache. “What if we beseech an AI god?”

“Like Quetzalcoatl?” Omari imagined the divinity crackling through the neuromorphic supercomputer, trillions of neurons suspended in a vat of honey. “Isn’t that a bit like asking your father to step in to help win your junior soccer game?”

Taino rubbed their temples with their palms. “With every passing hour, solving the case seems less likely.”

Omari tapped his chin with a fry. “If the sledgehammer killer goes on a rampage, then, yes, we could get enough public support to ask an AI.”

“If the CDS can’t find a suspect after multiple murders, we won’t have anyone’s support. No, we need more eyes on your data sooner.”

“Even if one pair is the killer’s?”

“We’ll have to trust in our superior numbers.”

Omari lifted up the tablet. “Then you want me to post this?”

“More than that, I’d like Vittoria’s crew to share what they know. They’re holding out on me.”

“That is shitty.” Omari’s mind drifted to dirty diapers, unfortunately.

“What about the footprint evidence?”

“Eše'hemeo'o is interviewing potential suspects.” Omari alternated bites of salty fries and sweet burger. “But he’s waiting the maximum allotted time to upload the videos, and I don’t know where he is on the list. Haven’t heard anything from him, actually.”

“He’s hiding his poker hand too. When we most need all cards on the table.”

“Maybe caution is the right play. I mean, if the killer is looking over our shoulders.”

“I know,” Taino said. “I’ll call a game night.”

“Wait, but we have a case.”

“That no one is solving fast.” Taino started tapping a message above his empty plate. His cybernetic tattoos flashed. “There, sent.”

Omari’s phone dinged. He pulled it out, checked the local CDS group chat. After Taino’s proposal he saw Vittoria typing. “I would say hold onto your hat, but….”

<<the_adVeecate: Not all of us have given up on your murder case so easily, Taino.

“Yeah. I’m not sure this is such a good idea. Wait, Taino. What are you typing?”

<<GumshoeTaino: All of us together, one place, and we’ll solve it.

Omari shook his head. “But if the killer is a local member, they’ll be there too.”

“At least then we’ll have witnesses if they kill again.” Taino was sweating. They startled at the next ding.

<<the_adVeecate: No game night. No meeting. Stick to your assignments.

“I’m going to call her out.” Taino’s fingers began tapping again.

Omari gripped their arm. “Not sure what you mean, but you should definitely not.”

“How would you like to be the first on the scene of the next murder?”

He thought back to Dominik Kang’s sister. How long would it take her to numb to the pain? Omari let go of Taino.

The detective chugged the last of their shake then finished typing something.

Omari heard the ding but hesitated to look. The steak was sitting like a boulder in his guts.

<<GumshoeTaino: Cowardice doesn’t look good on you, Vittoria. Afraid I’ll beat you again, at Clue?

“Shit!” Omari had pushed himself away from Taino and stood up before realizing it.

“Something wrong?” The cook shimmied up, and his music blinked off.

“No, no, not with your food anyway. Loved it. Thank you!”

“Looked like you enjoyed the steak.” He danced away with the plates.

Taino was staring off into the middle distance, or at their personal cyber display, more likely. Their left leg was twitching, and they had their hands buried in their armpits. Their voice came in a whisper. “She’s typing.”

<<the_adVeecate: Game night, tomorrow night. Taking our minds off the case may help with a breakthrough.

Taino looked like they were worried about Vittoria breaking through their ribcage. After three ragged breaths, they said, “It worked.”

Omari could feel an inappropriate joke bubbling up but couldn’t remember the therapy technique in time to stop it. “Guess you didn’t need to check out a shovel to dig your own grave.”

The detective didn’t laugh.

Maybe because it hadn’t been a joke. Omari would find out tomorrow night.

three days, five hours

Taino wore their trench coat. Too bad it wasn’t proof against bullets, sledgehammers, or Vittoria’s gaze.

They did not head toward the Game Library. That vaulted room with skylights shining pillars of sunbeams onto friends laughing around tables cluttered with cards and miniatures—that space the CDS avoided. Detectives preferred the Library of Times.

There, a record of every possible periodical, in every language, from every age, waited within live-computer DNA storage to be rediscovered. There, cases centuries cold screamed for truth and resolution. There, a hush of secrets pricked the ears and quickened the blood. There, you could read enlarged projections of newspapers on walls twenty meters tall. There, Taino went, their heart beating faster with every step.

The outside of the Library of Times sloped in an uneven dome, with a spiral pinnacle of seashell. Within, its floors sloped ever inward and upward. Taino didn’t know if the fractal pattern was analogous to time itself, but they liked to think of walking through the library as getting closer and closer to the heart of the matter, to cracking a case. The innermost chambers held shining truth, in the form of rare physical magazines.

Taino’s footsteps clapped on the entrance tiles. They tipped their cap to a statue of Rebecca Heath, librarian and historic citizen detective. They would need her to watch over them tonight. Heading up the winding hall, Taino passed below a scrolling projection of an old sports page. A figure in a photo raised a club overhead for a mighty swing, from back when the land was infected with golf gangrenes. Taino wondered if the killer had struck a similar pose lifting the sledgehammer.

They arrived early to the Detective Reading Room, the game room. Omari sat at a holo-table, now dark. He looked disheveled as usual, as if he and his clothes had been spun too long in the dryer of fatherhood. Beside him paced Nakamura, always lost and anxious without his dogs. Eše'hemeo'o leaned against a wall: the words “suspect apprehended” slid across his face and chest from a projected clipping of a historic murder case. Juul curled over a tablet. Her dark hair curtained around her head, but they could still see her lips moving, perhaps taste testing a bygone speech.

A dozen other detectives milled about in various levels of nervous excitement. Some cast Taino murderous looks. Others stared in pity, as if Taino were already dead. Vittoria had not arrived early, of course. Neither would she be late. Her punctuality was preternatural.

Detective Myca set out her typical thermos and tiny cups. “Tonight of all nights I thought we should relax into the wellspring of our superconscious, so I increased the dose.”

She could be right. Taino reached for the mushroom tea.

“Imagine,” Vittoria said, ducking through the doorway at precisely the appointed hour, “all the city’s detectives falling down dead, poisoned. How convenient for the killer at large.”

The thermos lid rolled across the table, its happy-toadstool sticker somersaulting. Myca said, “Are you saying I’m the killer?”

“Someone is, and they’re likely here.” Vittoria stared at each detective in turn, ending on Taino. She looked ready to rip off someone’s arm then demand they apologize for all the blood.

Taino set down their full cup of tea, before their shaking hand spilled any. They had given this moment some sleepless thought. Best to plunge headfirst into evidence, distract Vittoria from her rancor. They turned to the detective leaning against the wall, the one with the golden glow. “Eše'hemeo'o, has Librarian Larsen remembered anything?”

The detective shook his head. He looked more than his typical tired.

Taino’s voice sped up and pitched higher under Vittoria’s regard. “Fine, fine. Traumatic amnesia usually fades. In the meantime, there’s something interesting.”

They gave Omari a chance to speak up. He passed.

Vittoria loomed over the table, her reflection filling its black mirror. “Sounds like you’re delaying your defeat, but if you have evidence, out with it.”

“I have data.” Taino tapped the table, and a hologram lit up of the Cathedral community with red dots marking the dead Spots. Taino explained it as best they could, without getting Omari involved.

Vittoria leaned forward with her staff. She touched the markers with her cyber claws, loading details. “The Cathedral is north of the train station. Hmmmm.”

At the mention of the Cathedral district, Eše'hemeo'o blinked alert.

“Did you sniff out this data, Detective Taino?” Vittoria asked.

“No.” They glanced again at Omari.

Eyes pinched closed, Omari lifted a hand no higher than his shoulder.

“You!” Vittoria swung her staff to Omari.

Taino winced away but didn’t hear an impact.

With her orb, Vittoria lifted Omari’s chin. “You’re my new favorite datahound.”

He blinked up at her with glistening eyes. Taino breathed out a liter of pressurized fear.

“You found the psychopath.” Vittoria smiled, her lipstick a match for dried blood.

Detective Juul gestured to the map. “You mean where they live, their community?”

“Right here.” Vittoria pointed to a listing. “It says a boy found a disemboweled cat and carried it to the owners. Don’t you see?”

“Honestly, no,” Nakamura said while Taino thought the same.

“The boy is our psychopath,” she said. “He got caught with the pet he tortured, on his way to dump it on the owners’ doorstep like he had all the others.”

The detectives now crowded the table. One pointed at the data entry. “They interviewed the boy and cleared him. He was in shock and scared.”

“He was a deft liar, as psychopaths are,” Vittoria said. “An average child wouldn’t pick up a mutilated animal.”

Taino wasn’t so confident, but at least she no longer seemed keen to mutilate them. “The boy’s name was Chass Cupul.”

“Now goes by Doctor Cupul.” Vittoria raked the air to load a hologram of his public profile. She rotated her staff, and files geysered into view. “Never joined the CDS but applied. Ah ha! Our psychopath test kept him out.”

Taino scanned the text. It described how Cupul had come for the in-person interview. The CDS screened people who wanted to join, in person. He had walked out, disgusted at the sight of gore in the introductory video. “This doesn’t sound psychopathic. Someone who can’t stand blood isn’t exploding heads with a sledgehammer.”

“Taino, that sort of benevolent trust is exactly how Cupul never got caught. He lied to the interviewer, said he couldn’t bear the gore of the crime scene.”

Omari gripped his belly. “It was a fastball of gross.”

“Where’s the vid record?” Juul asked. “My interview was taped.”

“It must have been deleted because he withdrew,” Vittoria said. “That was his goal, for no one to review the footage, finalizing his application. If the CDS had, we would have detected his lack of visceral response to the surprise carnage. We would have identified him as a potential psychopath.”

“Didn’t realize that was part of the test,” a detective said.

“Cupul is smarter than you,” Vittoria said. “He guessed what was happening and retreated before our trap could spring.”

Taino’s hair stood on end. Tingles chased each other over their back and up their chest. Vittoria’s confidence was captivating. If she was right, they had their first suspect. If Vittoria was wrong, well, that too would be wonderful.

Juul stood with her hands on her waist, looking over the data and the doctor’s image. She chewed her lower lip like a worn-out piece of mint gum. “How sure are we that the sledgehammer killer is a psychopath?”

“Absolutely,” Vittoria said.

Taino took off their hat and ran a hand around its brim. “We know the murder was premeditated, with cold calculation. And yet it was done in so public a place, the risk of getting caught would be too great for most people to take with a clear head. That speaks to psychopathic levels of self-confidence.”

Juul gave a small nod, like a nun drifting to sleep in church.

“The only problem is,” Vittoria said, “I have never met Cupul. Why was he motivated to lash out at me?”

“You mean out at Dominik Kang.” Detective Eše'hemeo'o corrected her, fearlessly.

“Forget Dominik.” She snapped her fingers with a spark. “The killer didn’t know him. That is what the data shows. Cupul killed someone at random to snub the CDS publicly and my advocacy.”

Taino met the disbelieving gazes of other detectives. No one mentioned it, but Taino assumed everyone knew. Vittoria was a megalomaniac. She held herself head and shoulders above other people, thanks to gene modification. Naturally, she would assume everything in the city revolved around her.

They had to choose their words carefully. Not easy amidst this crackling, jangling rush. The anticipation in the room made it feel like riding an elevator to the top floor and leaping for joy into the last moment of weightlessness. Licking their lips, Taino said, “If that was the killer’s motivation, why that tool library?”

Vittoria’s smile hammered flat. “The same reason he dropped the dead pets on doorsteps, so we would see the crime, to savor human horror.”

“The killer didn’t leave the stiff on your doorstep.” Taino’s arms trembled within their coat sleeves. They clung onto the table, tried to meet her eyes, and settled on her chin as a compromise. “I bet you’ve never even entered that library.”

Eše'hemeo'o cleared his throat. “We should follow this lead. Doctor Cupul lives in the same building as a man I interviewed, who reported his CC boots missing two days before the murder. That brand left distinct footprints in the victim’s blood.”

The detectives took a collective breath.

“If this address is accurate,” Eše'hemeo'o said, squinting into cyberspace, “Cupul lives three doors down from the apartment where the boots were stolen.”

Omari jolted up from his seat. “Does Doctor Cupul know Librarian Larsen?”

“Interesting,” Taino said. “Maybe Cupul didn’t know the victim but did someone else working there.”

“I’m calling Larsen.” Eše'hemeo'o lifted a finger to his ear. Everyone leaned in.

While waiting for a connection, Taino studied the public image of Doctor Cupul. The hologram revolved in orange: a young man, he/him, average in stature, inoffensive in demeanor. His forgettability now seemed deadly. Something about his face struck Taino as off, but maybe they were only seeing what they feared was there.

“No answer,” Eše'hemeo'o said.

The detectives groaned as one.

“I’ll try Librarian Mery.” Eše'hemeo'o’s grey-flecked brows rose. “Oh, hello!”

“Patch the call through.” Vittoria tapped the table.

“I’m at a CDS meeting,” Eše'hemeo'o said.

“Hi!” Mery’s image appeared, and she seemed delighted to be completely surrounded by detectives.

“Your lead, Taino.” Vittoria pointed.

She must think they were wrong and would embarrass themself. Taino’s throat clamped, and they had to cough twice to get a word out. “Librarian Mery, who has access to Larsen’s work schedule? That is, who would know he would have been there Tuesday?”

“Well, I’m not sure. Larsen comes in whenever.”

Taino could feel a quicksand of failure sucking at their heels. “Do you know if, ah, he knows a Doctor Cupul?”

“Yes, I know him,” Mery said.

“Wait, you know who?” Taino asked.

“Cupul.” Mery lifted her hands to her cheeks. “Oh no! Did something happen to him?”

Taino looked to Vittoria. She looked to Juul. The detectives all looked to each other, and together they couldn’t help thinking, wondering, hoping. They had their man.

The theory that Cupul was a psychopath wouldn’t stand on its own. That he lived near the apartment where a pair of CC boots had gone missing would hardly incriminate anyone in itself. And knowing a librarian at the murder scene would never be called criminal. But taken together, the confluence of coincidences was most curious.

At least, at last, they had a suspect.

Vittoria spooled her long fingers around her staff and grinned like a demon about to indulge in a seven-course banquet of souls. Nakamura collapsed on a chair, running a hand through his white hair. Juul bowed over the table and exalted in a sigh. Omari wore a goofy expression of glee. Taino opened their coat, one button at a time, letting out some of the heat of triumph. And Eše'hemeo'o spoke to Mery.

“With your permission, I’m sending a black belt to escort you to the Library of Times. We need to record another interview.”

three days, seven hours

Eše'hemeo'o guided Librarian Mery to a chair. Another detective closed the door to the grand reading room. No one had left, though Omari and Nakamura had dozed in their seats, now blinking awake.

Mery sat in front of the holo-table, now cleared of data. Taino turned on their vidbot then backed away to join the others. Vittoria filled a sofa.

“Librarian Mery,” Eše'hemeo'o said, “you live in Lakewood, correct?”

“Yes, yes.” Her voice quavered. For the first time, she seemed ill at ease. The corner of one eye trembled.

He offered a hand. She accepted, and he clasped hers. The tips of Mery’s fingers chilled his palm. “How did you meet Doctor Cupul of the Cathedral community?”

“Through furniture.”

“Furniture?” Eše'hemeo'o had not expected that, but he supposed he should have. On their walk, Mery had rhapsodized about chair designs.

“Yes, I am always searching for substitutes for ivory and gold leaf. You need them to recreate inlays of eagle wings, suns, lion paws—so many beautiful things. I belong to a club that reproduces furniture in the style of the ancient Egyptians.”

Her grin returned. He could tell she took pride in her heritage. An ankh amulet shone against her black-pearl skin. Mery’s sheath dress and plaited wig could’ve belonged to a noble under a pharaoh. She wore her culture, like many in the city. Eše'hemeo'o too, he loved his moccasins.

“If you’re making something that lasts hundreds of years, it should also look timeless.” Mery’s smile turned brittle. Deep in her dark eyes flitted something he could not name. “I heard of a spider that spun gold thread. Not real metal, but it was beautiful. I reached out to the expert, Doctor Cupul.”

“Did you meet him?”

“Yes. I learned pretty fast that spidersilk wasn’t practical for my projects. But I still saw Cupul a few times, until I told him to stay away.”

“What made you say that?”

“We argued.” Mery closed her eyes and took a long breath. “He’s very pushy, and I decided to set a firm boundary.”

“What do you mean by ‘pushy’?”

“Forceful?” She made a talk-talking motion with her hand. “He speaks very fast. It’s a bit overwhelming.”

To keep himself calm, Eše'hemeo'o imagined eternal plains, grasses rolling in the winds, and the distant blessing of buffalo hooves. “Did Cupul ever hit you? Invade your personal space?”

“No, I don’t think so? He never struck me.”

“Can you tell me what you argued about? If it’s too difficult, you can stop.”

“I don’t remember how it started. But he insisted I wasn’t safe, no one was, even in New Tollan, even among friends, you could never be sure what would happen.” Mery began breathing faster and faster, close to hyperventilating.

Eše'hemeo'o lifted a palm for her to stop, but she had already checked herself, placing a hand on her chest, expanding her shoulders, resuming her poise.

“Cupul told me I could never trust people. You couldn’t be sure of what they would do.”

“Fuck!” A detective swore. Several more muttered.

Vittoria’s rich voice rose. “How did Doctor Cupul make you feel?”

“He’s exciting.” Pink flushed to crimson across Mery’s lips. Then their color drained. “That’s what I thought at first. After the argument, I wasn’t so sure.”

“You told him not to meet you after that?” Eše'hemeo'o asked.

Mery nodded.

“Did he honor that?”

She shook her head. “I had to walk away from him a few times. And I think he kept messaging me, but I muted him.”

“Can you send us those messages?” Eše'hemeo'o really hoped they would be incriminating.

“Yes, but hadn’t we better first check the Library’s location data? If we can see he wasn’t near Lakewood, I would rather not show you our texts.”

“Quite right.” The Library chipped most of its items. If Mery could find Cupul moving around on the other side of the city at the time of the murder, it would mean something. Either he was innocent or had someone else carrying his stuff.

“I’ll need a special access code from the Library Council.” Mery turned to Vittoria. “I believe you petitioned for one.”

The detectives found it in the case file and gave it to Mery.

“Our sortaries track all these requests. Let’s see. I know at least his shoes were loaned.” Her interface popped into existence over the table. They saw her zip through the Library system. Drop-down menus cascaded. A map appeared, with a single dot showing items checked out by Cupul. “Oh no.”

Eše'hemeo'o recognized the spot in the Cathedral Community. “He was at home?”

“I don’t know.” She began blinking very fast. “His shoes aren’t tracked. He opted out.”

Anyone could opt out of having their loans chipped. It simply made checkout longer and got you into trouble if you lost something. When the Library had first implemented the program, Eše'hemeo'o had resisted it himself for a few years; then he decided he couldn’t be bothered.

Vittoria stirred on the couch. “When did Cupul opt out?”

Mery mumbled, cleared her throat, then spoke. “A week after we broke up.”

Eše'hemeo'o’s brows shot up. This was it. He could feel it, but they needed evidence beyond the circumstantial. He turned to Omari and asked, “When were the animal killings?”

“Too far back.” Omari shook his head. “Before the Library started chipping.”

Resting a hand on Mery’s shoulder, Eše'hemeo'o said, “I believe we do need those texts.”

“Right, but I’m not going to look.” She tapped out a command on her thigh. The map and data faded over the table display, replaced by a column of message boxes. Mery got up from her chair, headed toward the door.

Taino intercepted her. “Did you ever give Doctor Cupul a tour of the tool library? The paint closet, specifically?”

“I think so. Yes.”

Eše'hemeo'o opened the door for her. He nodded to Seraphina al-Najjar, who was doing pushups outside.

The librarian slowed to a stop. Her head turned halfway back to him, one of her eyes visible through the braids of her wig and its lapis lazuli beads. “Cupul is a suspect?”

Her tone revealed she suspected him.

“A person of interest,” Eše'hemeo'o said. “And, Mery. You did right, standing up for yourself, walking away. Your self-knowledge makes you strong.”

“Thank you, Eše'hemeo'o.”

“No, thank you. Neaese. I’ll check in on you tomorrow.” He closed and relocked the door.

While he hurried back to the table, a yellowed newspaper projected on the far wall read, “Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run Strikes Again!”

Eše'hemeo'o looked from the grim clipping, over the shoulders of detectives to the holo-table to read the messages. The first ones were sent over a month ago.

<<DoctorCupul: You know I’m right.

<Drinks at the Flytrap?

<Ignoring me is so unfair.

<Now you’re proving me right. I never knew you could be so cruel.

Vittoria flicked the display to reveal more, received hours after the murder.

<<DoctorCupul: Just saw the news. Are you all right?

<Please simply tell how you’re doing.

<I can’t stop worrying about you. Your silence is killing me.

Eše'hemeo'o grimaced. This was what he feared but less than he hoped. No threats, no direct link to the killing.

“As cocky as he’s cold,” a detective said.

Another nodded. “Abusive piece of shit!”

“How soon until we can get him off the street?” Omari asked. “Advocate Vittoria?”

“Let me see.” She began counting off her fingers. They were so long they looked like they could engulf an entire human head. “Do we have those boots as evidence?”

“No.”

“Fingerprint evidence?”

“No.”

“Compelling witness evidence?”

“No.”

“DNA evidence?”

“No.”

“And no direct proof for the animal killings. The interview video exposing his psychopathy we deleted.” Vittoria made a fist. “So all we have is a neighbor who lost his boots and a few emotionally manipulative texts. That will earn Cupul no worse than mandated therapy, which will only sharpen his skill at lying.”

Juul shook her head. “Cupul bashed someone’s brains out to win an argument with his ex? That’s the motive?”

“Used to happen all the time,” Nakamura said. “More or less.”

“We can educate the sortaries about psychopaths.” Juul gestured with both hands in a way that charged Eše'hemeo'o with confidence, for a second. “Vittoria, you can convince the council Cupul is one―may be one.”

“You are detectives intimately familiar with historical serial killers. Sortaries will be closer to Librarian Mery, inclined to believe only the best of people, even after they murder.” Vittoria leaned her elbows onto the table and swept up all the detectives with her grey eyes. “Remember two things at all times. First, if I take him to trial tomorrow, Doctor Cupul will have seven Cathedral sortaries on his side. Second, he is a psychopath.”

Eše'hemeo'o checked to see if Taino had turned off their vidbot. They had.

“That means,” she said, “Cupul will be an incredible liar. Suspicions will ricochet off him. He’ll withstand all but the most eviscerating evidence. And, most critical, if you turn your back, he may split your skull. Everyone must be careful.”

Juul looked a little green. Then again, she was standing next to Taino, and their coat reflected an aura of verdure.

Eše'hemeo'o thought of Mery walking home at night. A black belt was with her now, but Seraphina couldn’t be there forever. He also remembered his promise to the victim.

“We must tell Dominik Kang’s story,” he said. “Is this how we think it ended? Doctor Cupul swinging the sledgehammer?”

Detectives nodded after some hesitation. “We’re certain,” Vittoria said.

Taino said, “That Doctor Cupul is worth investigating further as a suspect.”

“He is guilty,” Vittoria said.

“Cupul may be.” Taino sank into a chair under her stare. Their knees could have given out. “We have to prove it.”

“I would place a bet,” Nakamura said.

Juul shook her head. “Don’t wager over lives.”

Omari asked, “Then what do we need? A confession?”

“Tomorrow I’ll confront him and do what I can,” Vittoria said. “We should have a backup plan.”

“I’ll search his house,” Eše'hemeo'o said. “He may have kept those CC boots.”

“Seems unlikely,” Nakamura said, “but I’ll bring the dogs.”

“Do it while Vittoria has him tied up,” Taino said. “Before he knows we’re wise to him, before he has time to clean his place.”

“If we can get a warrant.” Nakamura turned to Vittoria.

“I will call a closed council with the Library sortaries,” she said. “Whether or not I succeed will depend on the datahounds.”

“What do you need?” Omari asked.

She tapped her staff. A purple glow fell over the crowded table as she began recording a video. “Investigate Doctor Cupul, from Cathedral. Consider him a psychopath who lies as easily as he breathes. Sniff out every truth about his life and document every falsehood. You have ten hours, dicks.”

three days, twenty hours, eleven minutes

<<CDS subforum: Murder Case, Lakewood Tool Library

<<posted by LordPW

<Sus Discuss: Did this psycho kill both his parents?

<comments: 439 votes: +4,963

<<posted by Fabio_Cayo

<Sus Discuss: lol Cupul isn’t a Doctor

<comments: 96 votes: +2,384

<<posted by ItzelDetective

<Sus Discuss: Cupul often introduced as having served in Climate Force. So that was a lie.

<comments: 38 votes: +1,817

<<posted by StayAtHolmes

<Sus Discuss: Cupul entrenched in community. They gave him key to cathedral.

<comments: 167 votes: +627

<<posted by Dadtective30

<Sus Discuss: Definitely no PhD but did co-author multiple scientific papers on aggressive mimicry.

<comments: 89 votes: +581

Vittoria glanced up from reading notes in her holo-orb to see that the bus had reached her stop. The door pistoned open. The vehicle swayed as she stepped off.

While walking to Cupul’s home she performed a mental check. She needed to be at her best. Last night she had fallen asleep smiling, had secured multiple hours rest. The early morning sortition council had been brutal, having to convince drowsy librarians that yes, pathological lying and falsified credentials were sufficient cause to search someone’s residence. She commended herself for adding a more-invasive request for device tracking. They refused that and gave her the warrant she wanted.

She paused at a coffee cart, long enough to down four mugs. Stooping, she kissed the barista on the cheek. After a few more strides, she reached the psychopath’s apartment block.

Someone approached her. “I saw you secured the warrant. Eše'hemeo'o and Nakamura are on their way.”

It was Taino, minus their tasteless hat and coat. She said, “I must admit, in plain clothes you are spectacularly nondescript. Cupul hasn’t left yet?”

“Not through the front door.” They handed her a wire.

Vittoria took it. Sometimes low-tech was the best tech. “And Juul hasn’t spotted him at the community lab.”

She located the nearest public restroom, adjusted herself, then returned, passed Taino, and took a seat in plain sight. The bench under her creaked. The trellis above buzzed with pollinators zipping from flower to flower. Vittoria reviewed the CDS forums, considered her angles of attack, and relished how she would soon devour another.

Vittoria would go for a quick kill because she was a professional. And yet, should Cupul struggle, should he resist her fangs, she would be content to constrict. She would crush him by degrees, squeeze out his last burning breath, swallow his screams, until there was nothing left.

Her heart thudded, a mighty beat, measured, assured, unstoppable. She pressed her dress against her thighs, feeling the smoothness and her strength. She flexed the muscles of her back and stretched her arms, pushing her staff out so its orb caught the sun.

And there he was. Cupul marched out of the building. He wore a bespoke lab coat, which must be quite the important outfit for a fake.

With a flick of a finger, she started the livestream.

Vittoria fired the first volley with a smile. “Doctor Cupul!”

“Advocate Vittoria!” He headed straight for her.

“Just the man I wanted to see.” She reached toward his shoulder.

He caught her hand between two of his. “The one woman I hoped to meet.”

She tested his strength but did not feel the need to break his grip yet.

<<RobberlyBaron: Wow! He must’ve been expecting you.

<<SilverSleuther: Shake the truth out of him, V.

“I always wished to see the Cathedral from within,” she said. “Will you do me the courtesy of unlocking the way?”

“Only if I may keep you company inside.”

“So long as you don’t keep me forever.”

He guided her down a lane, holding her hand in his, something no other man had attempted. “You’ve long captivated me, Vittoria—May I call you Vittoria?”

“As long as I may call you Cupul. ‘Doctor’ seems far too formal.”

“Your towering achievements, your style, your presence, even greater up close. You are a Photuris versicolor among her firefly prey. I must say, Vittoria, I’m delighted my research could contribute in some small part to your magnificence.”

“Oh, did my surgeons employ your spider-silk-lattice technology?” She asked, knowing they hadn’t.

“Absolutely. And I must say they did glorious work expanding your skull. Your head is most proportional.”

“Oh, Cupul, you mustn’t try to murder me with flattery.”

<<SamuelShovel: Wait, what’s going on here.

<<Xigmacse: They’re both talking super fast.

They walked together onto the plaza in front of the Cathedral Nuestra Madre Gloriosa. The enormous greenhouse with its glass flying buttresses sparkled. The pink perovskite on its roof absorbed the sun rays unnecessary for the plants growing within. In front of the crystalline building, people swayed in tai chi. A few steps away, dancers had taken to the kinestage, practicing their moves for this evening’s competition. One flipped, landing on a single foot. Another botched his pirouette at the sight of Cupul and Vittoria.

It disgusted her to be seen hand in hand with this parasite, this tapeworm. Being a killer was bad enough, but he also wore sneakers. Still, the transparent walls of the Cathedral would provide a venue public enough for both parties to feel safe and private enough that he might confide. The main doors were never used; in front of their facade, people picked up armfuls of fresh basil and spinach. Beside the cart of herbs and vegetables, one person cooked chard to give out for lunch, and another made ice cream.

The cook smiled up at the pair. “Are you hungry? Just let me fix up a barrel of greens.”

“Then you can have some mint-blessed ice cream,” said the other.

Vittoria and Cupul swept past to the side entrance. He said, “I understand you’re working on a new case, the sledgehammer killer? Some days ago by now, right? The CDS usually moves quicker, or is this one harder? Hmmm? But I’m sure you’ll eventually find your man.”

“Yes, I feel I’m very close.”

<<SamuelShovel: This is the craziest interview ever.

<<PeacoatBob: Just joined. Has she accused him of killing anyone yet?

<<Juul43: Not yet.

Cupul led her to a glass wall. It looked normal, apart from an obvious corridor on the other side leading into the Cathedral. He touched the clear surface, and a door slid down.

He beckoned inside toward a glowing greenness. “Ladies first.”

“As host, you should have that honor.”

“Please, you’re wounding my pride.”

“I fear your chivalry will be the death of me.” Vittoria braced herself with her walking stick and picked him up with one arm, placing him inside. “I insist.”

Cupul’s expression stayed calm. His eyes showed as much emotion as an insect’s, while he chattered on about her grace and strength.

Vittoria crouched after him, staff first. The door sealed behind her. A computer’s voice admonished them to check for beetles and other pests before proceeding into the grand hall. She kept her eyes on the two-legged one in front of her, while he opened the inner portal to the Cathedral.

“Cupul, how many women have you taken past this threshold?”

“None so grand as you.”

<<WongAnswersOnly: Not fair. I’ve always wanted to go in there.

The heights were uplifting. The vertical farm soared green all the way to the vaulted ceiling. Herbs filled the vestibules. Beans wound around columns. In place of pews grew walls of chard. Crops filled the air with the scent of oregano, rosemary, and growth. The only sounds came from bursts of mist and the clink of harvest bots. The automated climbers looked like four-legged arachnids. Their abdomens hung full of produce.

“I designed those,” he said. “Every day they pick fifty kilos.”

“Brilliant, and speaking of genius, why did you reshelve the sledgehammer after killing Dominik Kang?”

“I saw the video, if that’s what you mean.”

<<Juul43: Shit! He didn’t even flinch.

Holding her staff in the crook of her arm, Vittoria hoisted Cupul up with two hands, so their eyes were level, lips centimeters apart. “I value swift truth. You would never lie to me, would you?”

“Never.”

“Then you won’t mind telling me where you were at 2:30, last Tuesday.”

“Why, that exact time, I’m not sure. But I was at Miss Juul’s press release that afternoon. Lovely girl.”

<<Juul43: WTF!

Vittoria’s hands wrapped around his chest, her thumbs on his collarbones. “So you were at the tool library?”

“No, at Tadeas Tacos. Absolutely delicious! We should go together.”

“To die for, I’m sure. After cleaning up in the library, you helped yourself to a snack?”

“The library was closed. I remember an emergency bike and some crowds. I wondered what was going on while I ate, so I stayed for the press conference.”

<<Inspector2Goole: So he admits he was within spitting distance of the murder. Is that enough?

<<GumshoeTaino: No

Vittoria would try once more on this line of attack. “Would you say the meal tasted better or worse, after killing?”

“I admit I’m not used to dark humor, but from you it’s most charming,” he said while his feet were dangling. “Even though I have no doubt about your intentions, someone else might mistake your tone. They might think you’re accusing me of eating tacos. That’s not a crime, not like slander, assault, or murder. I would hate for you to think I would break the law, or for anyone to believe the same of you—that would be so much worse, an esteemed member of the CDS wanted as a criminal.”

She blasted him with a smile and set him down. “Oh, my dear little Cupul, if you ever think I’m being too forward, or if you feel insecure or unsafe, simply say so. I would never wish to invade your personal space.”

He looked ridiculous, straightening out his lab coat tinted pink from the glass dome above.

“And on the subject,” she said, “did your father ever violate your consent?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Yet he must’ve done something inexcusable.”

“Why do you say so?” Cupul asked.

“He deserved to die, didn’t he?”

“My father was a dietician and gave so much to our community. Then he died tragically.”

“No need to be coy,” Vittoria said. “Aren’t parents always in the way? With them both gone, you’ve gained so much. A private apartment, for one.”

He turned away from her, to hide a grin, she guessed. “At the risk of being called humorless, I will ask you not to joke about my father’s tragic accident. The trauma of being so close but unable to help took me years of therapy to overcome.”

“And when you poisoned your grieving mother, so she shriveled over months into a lifeless husk, how did it feel to get away with it?”

Cupul met her accusation head on. He had fixed his face into a convincing mask of pain. “I thought I knew you. I thought we had a connection. Why must you insist on hurting me? What pleasure does it give you to be so cruel?”

“Why did you kill them both?”

“You’re blaming the victim. You’re twisting my misfortunes, forcing me to relive them. I learned from therapy it’s natural to feel guilt, even when we are innocent, when we had no control, when fate dealt the cruelest hand. But I’ve put in the work to heal. I’ve endured. Thanks to my community’s love, I’ve lived life to the fullest and become a success. And I wish you that same love, Vittoria. I forgive you.”

<<MasterDuster: I’m feeling bad. Are you sure you’ve got the right man?

<<PiliGoldsmith: He’s either completely innocent or a slick piece of shit.

<<Magniflygirl: Cupul didn’t design the Cathedral bots. Sorry. He lies faster than I can fact-check.

Vittoria leaned her staff against a wall of coriander and left it. “Darling Cupul, you have met my every expectation, and then some. I apologize if I offended your sensibilities. Be at ease. Let us walk together and only speak of pleasure.”

“Wonderful! This way, to the apse. Now you don’t have to tell me if you wish, I won’t force out your secrets, but what divinity do you see?”

The Cathedral Nuestra Madre Gloriosa contained a digital miracle. When viewed through a retinal display or a lens, the interior shone with more than green. Those outside, seeing through the crystal facade, would catch glimpses of a golden glow, of a mythical figure. Depending on your religion settings, you might see any manner of goddess.

“Alas,” Vittoria said, “I have left behind all my devices.”

Outside, beyond glass panes, a couple were taking selfies and screaming with excitement. A man by himself on the plaza glowered at Vittoria and Cupul inside.

“You must fetch your staff.” Cupul dared to reach to the large of her back, tried to steer her around.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him onward. “No, I would rather be truly alone with you. Now, who do you see?”

“Why, Jörd the Giantess, her shoulders rising to the rafters, her fingers against the ground, digging toward the crypt as roots. Her hair is at once golden wheat, a waterfall, and a hillside of emerald moss.”

Either he had just made that up, or he had changed his own preferences to what he thought she would like. He was a resourceful sort of corpse fly.

“Thank you, Cupul. You know, we’re not so different. I hope in this holy place I can trust you, confide in you.”

“You may, you must, my Vittoria. My heart is a vault of secrets ready to keep yours safe.”

“The CDS and its rules can be so stifling. Restrictions, they get in the way of our freedom, and our purest feelings. Tell me, because nothing would delight me more, describe the joy of killing.”

He crossed his arms and adopted a hurt expression.

“Fine, if you insist, I’ll go first,” she said. “I loved the pop-pop-pop of ribs cracking in my grip, the heat of blood, the life burst, the fast extinguish. That expression—the dawning that all their strength and skill amounted to nothing. They sing until their throats are sore about how precious people are, but they’re only so much clay between our fingers.”

“Who did you do this to?”

She answered with her purest smile.

“Your boldness overwhelms me, lovely Vittoria. To expose yourself to the very exacting societal judgments you professionally protect. I only wish I could understand what you want from me.”

“No more than your truth. Relationships are built on trust. Isn’t that what you want?”

“More than anything,” he said.

“You aren’t the sort who fails to return favors, are you?”

“I would love to reciprocate, but I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone I am not.”

Anger spread as an itching fire up her back, around her neck, and across her face in a burning, humiliating blush. She felt spurned, rejected, outdone, crushed.

So be it. She backed away from him. “You disappoint me, Cupul. I thought we could have something special.”

He professed that they could, along with much more verbal piddle. She focused on keeping him in view while retreating through the Cathedral. On the way out she collected her staff.

<<Juul43: You’re back. <3 You were wearing a wire, right?

Vittoria nodded and squeezed through the corridor into the open air. Beneath a glass buttress, she pressed in close to Cupul. “I’m giving you one last chance. Admit your crime from the tool library.”

“I love you. Why must you abuse me so?”

“Confess. I’ll even let you be infamous, if you wish. But if you let me walk away unsatisfied, you’re finished. I will eradicate you.”

“Vittoria, Vittoria, Vittoria, at times you’re too much for me. I must set a boundary. Stop demanding more than I can give, and we’ll both be happier for it.”

“Farewell, Cupul. The next time we meet, I will not be so polite.”

“I’ll make a reservation at the Flytrap. See you at eight tonight. Don’t be late.”

That’s my line, maggot.

Keeping him in the corner of her eye, she sashayed across the plaza. She spoke to her staff. “Dicks, do not confront him yourself. Warn Nakamura and Eše'hemeo'o that he might return home. They better have found something.”

Comments and hearts streamed by then vanished at the flip of a switch. She was in no mood for their love.

Before leaving the plaza, Vittoria remembered a program, one a friend had been working on. She turned back to the Cathedral and lifted her orb. Through its crystal and the Cathedral’s glass, she glimpsed a new presence.

A woman filled the nave. Clothed in divinity, she knelt amidst the greenery to fit inside. Her neck bowed within the high dome, while her knees straddled the lush altar. Her headdress shimmered in silvery whorls, filling the vaulted ceiling as if shaped to fit. Her smile was familiar, Vittoria’s face.

What a revelation to see the godhood in yourself.

Vittoria left with her head held high. After all, this excursion hadn’t been a total loss.

three days, twenty hours, eighteen minutes

Seeing Vittoria and the killer around the corner snapped Eše'hemeo'o into the moment. His heart pounded slower as his senses sped up. Anticipation thrummed through his hands, up his arms and spine. He felt lighter, rising to the balls of his feet, lofted by spirits.

Eše'hemeo'o took another look, and the pair had disappeared. He strode toward the apartment complex’s door for the second time in almost as many days.

This time, Nakamura came with him, followed by his dogs. “Hush, Chimon. Hush, Mai.”

At the entrance they met with a convergence of detectives. Taino said, “If you need any help, call. We’ll be interviewing the neighbors.”

The detectives marched in, active vidbots humming. Eše'hemeo'o’s tablet guided him to apartment 352. This was a two-room unit, plus bath. In the hall they passed a communal living room. Three people stopped talking to stare. Taino engaged them. Eše'hemeo'o loaded the warrant. It expanded as a hologram, with the Library’s seal of the shared sun. He passed it through the doorknob, twice, not hearing the sound of a lock.

He gloved up and tried it. The knob turned. “Unlocked. Bad sign.”

They needed evidence for this case, not some empty apartment the killer couldn’t even be bothered to lock. Airlessness constricted his chest, crushing tension, squeezing desperation. That wouldn’t do. Before opening the door, he breathed out his expectations. No matter what he found, he would do his best. His worries he offered up to Maheo, The Creator.

“You go first,” Nakamura said. “Let me know when you’re ready for the slobber.”

Just then, a girl ran by followed by a dog. It started barking at Nakamura’s bloodhounds, and the poor man staggered as they pulled on the leads. Eše'hemeo'o made sure he wouldn’t fall then pushed open the door.

The apartment smelled of soap. From somewhere came a buzzing. Clean floor, two closed doors, one table, and pictures on the walls.

Eše'hemeo'o went in, found himself tiptoeing. He stopped before a framed photo of Cupul and his father in Yosemite. The killer’s smile was fake, but then, they often looked that way in posed pictures. Eše'hemeo'o reminded himself not to assume guilt yet. Cupul’s skin was darker than his father’s. In the background were granite walls, with Half Dome recognizable. Cliffs surrounded them with thousand-foot drops into pine-forest spikes.

“Nakamura, come look at this.”

His dogs pattered over the hardwood, with a tink of one chrome foot. “Shit! Is that photo right before his dad fell off the cliff?”

“Well, it wasn’t from after.” Looking at it made Eše'hemeo'o feel he had swallowed stones from a cold stream. “Is this photo a kill trophy?”

“If Cupul pushed him. Or it’s a boy’s last good memory with his dad.” Nakamura shook his head. “When you’re looking for a killer, that’s all you see. But that grin is haunting.”

Eše'hemeo'o lifted the picture, checked the wall, unframed it, nothing more.

“Same thing over here, with the mother.” Nakamura stood in front of a photo of Cupul guiding a woman bent over a walker. She was skeletal, more spirit than flesh. At least this candid lacked any ghoulish smile from Cupul.

“How was the mother buried?” Eše'hemeo'o asked.

“With a tree, I would guess.”

Eše'hemeo'o checked his tablet to read the livestream comments.

<<HerculePoirot: Can confirm, mother interred in Everlife Forest.

“We should exhume the body,” Eše'hemeo'o said, “check for poisons.”

“Better find some hard evidence first. Or the neighborhood council will never have it.” Nakamura’s dogs snuffled their way to a wall with a handle and slits.

Eše'hemeo'o pulled, and a bed descended. He ripped off the covers and took a knife to the mattress, opening and digging through the stuffing. He found nothing, except shame in himself.

Why had he ruined this mattress? Well, he had read case files on many a criminal who had hidden evidence there. One murderer had even stuffed the bones of his ex in his box spring, so she could never escape sleeping with him. No, Eše'hemeo'o needed to have searched the mattress. But he would replace it if they found Cupul innocent.

One clump of padding fell to the floor, and the younger dog gobbled it up.

“No, Chimon!”

They tried some cabinets next. Eše'hemeo'o found old knitting needles, a ball cap like the father had worn in the photo, and more stuff that likely had belonged to the parents. It could’ve been endearing, but it felt more and more ominous. A brass key with a barcode unlocked a photo album in cyberspace. He flicked through a few of the holographic pages. Typical family photos. Eše'hemeo'o tapped a command on his chest to scrape the image data, for a closer look later.

Tugging another notch in the wall revealed a cupboard with Cupul’s change of clothes. The detective rifled through undershirts and underwear and socks, all bleached white.

The dogs licked at the side of a wall bench. Nakamura lowered himself with care. “Found a liquor cabinet.”

“Mark those for the labheads.” Eše'hemeo'o examined the underside of the table. It seemed thicker than needed. He pulled up the leaf, and yes, there was a storage compartment. He found gardening gloves, a utility knife, a butterfly net, calipers, and something even weirder. “What are these?”

Both his camera drone and Nakamura took a look. “Microbots?”

With the calipers, Eše'hemeo'o picked one up. The size of a tick, with similar legs barbed to grip, it hit the center of the Venn diagram for unnatural and creepy crawler. After bagging it, seven others, and the gloves for evidence, he read off his tablet.

<<Tintin2011: Those better not be the head exploders SlickWhicky was raving about.

<<HerculePoirot: They’re matching my online searches for trackers. Locator bots.

That was also Eše'hemeo'o’s fear. You could plant these things on people then hunt them down; they could never hide. After this, he would go straight to Librarian Mery, to see if she was infested with any.

Nakamura opened a cabinet beside the bed. He flinched back. “Oh, gross!”

Eše'hemeo'o rushed to look. Inside sat long and twisty objects, brightly colored. He pressed a button on one, and it began to vibrate. Sex toys, one of the few things the Library didn’t loan. He felt at once an itching flush and a churning disgust.

“Can you get this?” Nakamura pointed to a trapdoor ring in the floor. “It’s a tub, right?”

“That’s what the unit specs say.” Eše'hemeo'o pulled, and floorboards folded up. He gritted his teeth, imagining a crumpled body, but the bathtub was empty except for several pubic hairs.

“Locked.” Nakamura had tried the first door. He went on to the second. Between echoing barks, he said, “Bathroom, one of those shower hybrids.”

Waving the warrant through the knob failed to unlock the door. Had to be a custom job. The bottom of it also looked modified, with a flap pressing hard into the floor, likely to dampen sound. Still, he could hear a buzzing.

What would he find in this darkness? He centered his spirit on the free plain, nothing but healthy grasses all around, clean wind carrying away his dread, with an inviting sky overhead.

He took a skeleton-key bot from his belt. It clamped on the knob, and its beak head jammed itself into the lock. Snick-snick-snick-click!

The door whispered open. A sunbeam arced across the floor. A bee shot past his shoulder.

Eše'hemeo'o jumped. At first, he thought an open window had let the bee in. But this sounded more like a hive. Peeking inside, he saw that though the window was shut, its glass was perforated with flower-shaped apertures. Bees bumped along tubes, entering the room where they circled, trapped, amidst glittering webs.

Spiders hung on threads of gold. Massive, they each looked a hand wide. Yellow-lozenge abdomens hung from legs with hairy black joints ending in spindle claws.

His hand jerked the door closed, by reflex. Eše'hemeo'o wasn’t even afraid of spiders, normally. And Librarian Mery had mentioned something about gilt spider silk. Those webs had seemed like shattered gold necklaces.

“What is it?” Nakamura asked.

“Don’t let your dogs in here.” Eše'hemeo'o cracked the door open for another peek. “Orb weavers, the ones Cupul researched.”

“The banana spiders? Wouldn’t he keep those in a lab?”

“Maybe they’re rescue pets? He’s feeding them bees. Fuck! The room’s mostly bare, but we better clear it.” He tapped a message on his tablet for Taino.

<<SunRoad: Need those evidence boxes and two helpers who aren’t afraid of spiders. Or bees.

Nakamura wished him luck and left with his dogs. Taino came soon after with containers. Arming himself with the butterfly net, Eše'hemeo'o went in.

A web stretched as he caught a spider. Its legs pierced through the netting, so maybe it wasn’t meant for them. Taino put down the evidence box, and he shook the spider into it. Its feet tapped the sides. Tick-tick.

“We need thicker gloves,” Taino said.

“Not the safest working conditions. Oh buffalo shit!”

His vidbot had followed him in, and it whirred into a web. The robot stuck. Propellers sputtered. A spider skittered close, spinning lassos onto the poor hovercam. Eše'hemeo'o boxed the orb weaver, but too late. The drone careened into the ground and broke.

The livestream died.

“I’ll turn on mine.” Taino kept theirs fluttering behind in the doorframe. A bee ducked around it to escape.

“Wonder how getting trapped in a web looked to the viewers.”

“Terrifying.” Taino took a full collection box. “Wait, did you see this?”

As much as he didn’t want to, Eše'hemeo'o took a closer look. On the top of a spider’s speckled abdomen clung one of those microbots. “Great. He tracks his pets.”

“Careful.” Taino pressed another box onto Eše'hemeo'o’s shoulder. A spider had crept there, and he hadn’t even noticed. They slid the container shut.

Eše'hemeo'o felt like throwing up.

“Don’t like it. If Cupul loves spiders so much why did he kill with a sledgehammer? Feels off-brand.”

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” He slapped webs off his clothes. “If it makes you feel any better, he could’ve poisoned his mom.”

“Or maybe he killed no one.”

They both trapped the rest of the orb weavers. Eše'hemeo'o counted them. “Seven.”

“That we found.”

“I thought it was a big apartment for one, but it’s snug with eight.”

All that remained in the room were tattered webs, dust bunnies, piles of dead bees, a macabre cat skeleton framed, and a suspicious floorboard.

Unlike the trapdoor above the tub, this panel was smaller and rougher. The wood looked like it had been hacked or chiseled.

Taino crouched beside it. “What do we have here?”

“A rug may have hidden it at some point. And look, the fold-out bed would’ve covered it.” Eše'hemeo'o knelt opposite Taino, but neither made a move to lift the plank. He envisioned hundreds of spider legs swarming out of the hole. Still, they had to search. This may well be where Cupul hid the CC boots. As soon as they found them, Dominik’s story was done.

“The bad news is we have to hurry,” Taino said. “Vittoria didn’t get a confession, and she warned Cupul may be returning.”

“Back up, to be safe.” He gripped the loose plank then stepped up and away.

The rent in the floor yawned black. Nothing came out.

“Don’t see anything, but no way am I sticking my arm in.”

“My vidbot will check it out.” Taino switched on its light, and it hummed down into the opening. “Hmmmm. I just see where the insulation was pulled out, blocks of the building’s hempcrete. It’s empty.”

“No, there has to be something. The spiders and tracker bots cancel each other out, and we need evidence. We have to find it.” Eše'hemeo'o tried to run a hand through his hair, but his gloves stuck and made it hurt.

Taino pointed to the hole. “Cupul must’ve hid something, as a kid. This was probably his room. After his parents died, maybe he didn’t need whatever it was anymore.”

“Or didn’t need to hide it.” Eše'hemeo'o stepped in front of the framed skeleton. He had left it alone on the far wall but returned to it now. Glass plate protected it. He assumed the bones were a cat’s because of an accompanying photo of Cupul, younger, squeezing a fluffy grey feline. The animal looked angry; the boy’s face was blank.

Some of the bones seemed wrong, too big or too small. What at first only unsettled him now filled him with a scratching, hissing terror. Eše'hemeo'o backed out of the room. He knew Nakamura’s bloodhounds had bone problems, maybe cancer. He brought the older detective back in and asked him.

“That’s a dog’s paw.” Nakamura pointed to one limb of the skeleton. “And that’s a cat’s. See how the claw looks more like a thorn?”

“Then what is this abomination?” Taino’s lower lip curled back from their teeth.

“A killer’s first trophy. Remember the data about dead animals.” Eše'hemeo'o felt sick with relief and frightfully happy. He hoisted the framed skeleton off the wall. His hands were numb, so he clutched it close, despite his revulsion. “This is evidence. Not what we came for, but something.”

“Then let’s go.” Taino tapped some commands. “Vittoria said we should avoid Cupul, and I have to agree. Everyone, out.”

They left the spiders, boxed. Detectives carried the rest of the evidence out. An electric school bus parked outside. Juul waved them in. “So, is he guilty?”

“Of bad decor and maybe more,” Taino said.

“Dammit!” Nakamura was sweating and wobbly up the bus steps. He glared at the skeleton. “Someone has to kill that psycho.”

The vehicle’s door squeaked closed. The engine started, and the librarian driver took off. The bus was a loan.

While detectives planned a press release, Eše'hemeo'o got off in Lakewood. He and Mery spent a tense few hours searching her and her clothes for microbots. In the end, they went to the hospital to have all her stuff x-rayed.

They found the tracker in her wig, clutching the base of a braid with its hook legs. It may have been there for months.

four days, three hours, seven minutes

Omari slid the pumpkin pie into the oven then shuffled back to his apartment to enter Cupul as an official suspect. A message popped up on his central monitor.

<<Request Denied: review pending by commissioners.

“What the fuck?”

Vittoria had tasked him to do this, to update the CDS case file with Cupul as the prime suspect. Omari couldn’t let the Data Queen down. He had never seen a message like this before. Leaning forward on his chair, one leg crossed under the other, he delved into the specs of this case’s subform.

An online table listed the names of the volunteer commissioners. But there was something more here. At the top appeared five more detectives in a red box. He recognized a few of their screen names, but none of them were local. He found himself leaning forward for a closer look at the text and instead enlarged it.

<<Case Review Commission: At-large detectives automatically selected by sortition to safeguard CDS integrity.

“Then you had better get reviewing,” Omari said. Vittoria and Juul wanted to go public with their suspect to move the investigation along. Omari had two and a half hours. “Wait, what’s this?”

His left monitor flashed yellow with an incoming request for a videoconference, from a Select Commissioner.

“Oh no!”

Omari wasn’t prepared for this. He flailed into his closet, finding a kanzu without stains on its white fabric, at least none visible from the camera’s perspective. He checked his face in the bathroom mirror, wiping extra pumpkin mixture off his chin. That’s right, the pie. He set a ten-minute timer to reduce the oven heat.

On the way back to his chair, he did a sniff test under his armpit. Failed it, but at least the internet didn’t transmit stink.

Plopping down, Omari flicked his cursor to accept. On his screen appeared an avatar, a classic-movie detective in a yellow suit, with a halo of knives. The commissioner hadn’t even bothered to turn on his camera after all Omari’s hustle.

<<Benoit03Blanc: Hi, Dadtective30. Received an alert from you. We have monitored the case evidence up to the latest interview with Librarian Mery.

<What have you discovered since then?

“So much.” Omari straightened his robes, noticed they were wrinkled. “Cupul isn’t a doctor. He’s a liar who blinks less often than a snake. As a kid he dissected animals and collected their bones. Here.”

Omari linked the commissioner to the veterinarian’s initial report. They had identified the bones of multiple animals in the skeleton display from Cupul’s house.

While awaiting a response, Omari’s pie alarm went off. “Shit! AFK 30 seconds.”

He huffed and puffed to the community kitchen and turned down the oven temperature. In another hour the pie would be done and golden. He dashed back to find a message.

<<Benoit03Blanc: How do you know Cupul killed these animals? Could he have acquired bones through other means?

“What? They were framed with a photo of a family pet. They have personal significance to the suspect.”

<<Benoit03Blanc: Cupul is not a suspect.

“We suspect him, all the local detectives do.” This faceless commissioner didn’t know or didn’t care. And now was he going to, what, red tape their hands behind their backs? “Did you see the files linking Cupul as a boy to the mutilated animals?”

<<Benoit03Blanc: He may be a suspect in a different case, for animal cruelty. What evidence do you have that this is the sledgehammer killer?

“Bits and pieces. What is it called, a criminal profile?”

<<Benoit03Blanc: The words you are searching for are “prejudice” and “pride.” That’s what they’ll say of the CDS if you call the wrong man a suspect.

Omari didn’t know how to respond. He had to convince the commissioner. Couldn’t fail Vittoria a day after she had named him her favorite datahound. What an embarrassment, to have that reversed in less than twenty-four hours.

<<Benoit03Blanc: Detective, I admit I am jealous of you.

Oh really?

<<Benoit03Blanc: You have boots on the ground on an exciting case.

<And speaking of boots, I take it you did not find the CC boots in Cupul’s residence?

“No, I guess not. Just the animal bones. And some creepy tracker bots.”

<<Benoit03Blanc: What you have is a dusting of suspicion, a thin topsoil of incrimination. We need a seed of evidence before that can grow into an official suspect.

“The CC boots would’ve been an, ah, evidence seed?”

<<Benoit03Blanc: No, that would be a towering redwood. But you can grow a case from something smaller.

While the commissioner continued to type, Omari glanced to his right monitor. A football match between Tokyo and San Francisco was about to enter extra time. He wished he could give it more attention, but there was this, plus a niggling feeling that he was forgetting something.

<<Benoit03Blanc: The seed can be from witness testimony, but distrust any statements that could’ve been derived from that horrible video. Someone might regurgitate a detail from it for attention, intentionally or not. We need evidence with an undisclosed fact linking Cupul with the murder.

“So I have less than two hours to find it, before the press release.”

<<Benoit03Blanc: CDS rules are immutable. The same cannot be said of your timeline.

“Right.” Omari rolled his chair forward and snapped out a few commands on his keyboard. Folders opened onscreen, files selected in orange blocks. “We interviewed Cupul and his neighbors this morning, and I have the videos. All ten hours of it.”

<<Benoit03Blanc: Do not hesitate to contact me once you have discovered an evidence seed.

With a blip, the commissioner's avatar disappeared. Omari was left with a frown, a mission, and very little time. He wasted none of it, texting to the local detective group chat.

<<Dadtective30: Need evidence against Cupul. Who caught something good in their interviews?

While awaiting replies, Omari created a post on the city’s CDS website. Traffic had increased a million-fold since the video leaked. At least he could channel that interest into evidence gathering. He selected a photo of Cupul, along with two other random men from the same district. Omari checked the CDS bylaws, and, yes, he could post this as long as he didn’t name any as a suspect.

<<Witness Request: Did you see any of these men, 1:30-2:15 PM, Tuesday, riding the train from Cathedral to Lakewood?

Omari would have to be lucky to get a response in time, but if someone had seen Cupul wearing the CC boots, well, that might be the seed he needed. He checked the group chat on his phone.

Nothing yet. Wait, a bell sound made him grin up at his left monitor. Oh, no. It was the commissioner again.

<<Benoit03Blanc: Saw your latest post. The more we desire someone to be guilty, the more their behavior will appear incriminating.

Is this guy a friend of the killer? Omari wanted to mash his keyboard. Then a memory flashed into mind, a sharp and chilling recollection like a drop of cold water on your back out of nowhere.

Omari had been drinking microbrews with Taino after a game night. The green-coiffed detective had asked, “You’re new. Gotten case fever yet?”

“What do you mean?”

“Been wrapped so tight in a mystery you can’t sleep. Everyone looks dressed to the nines in suspicion, and you tunnel-vision so hard on a suspect it’s like you’re looking at the world through a sniper scope.”

“Ah, no,” Omari said. “I don’t think that’ll happen as a datahound. I mainly crunch numbers until my vision gets blurry.”

Taino shrugged and chugged.

“How many times has it happened to you?”

“Every time,” Taino said. “And I brought it up because all detectives should know about it, guard against it. On every case, examine the facts but also yourself.”

That night, Omari had shaken his head. But now, he understood. He was fevered. Omari believed Cupul was the killer, before proof, before reason, before logic.

Sure, Cupul was a creep, likely guilty of killing some pets. But murder? Omari’s big case, and he was ready to tackle and convict the first person he found.

“Rookie, Omari. You’re a big rookie.” He had two hours left to solve this.

A post about photos had risen to the top of the Sus Discuss forum. Omari clicked it. A picture showed Cupul, looking young and thoughtful, sitting at a table in a games library with his father. Omari didn’t see why this one was special until he started reading.

<<ArnoldPalmer: Wonder if dad had matching sweatpants.

Omari did a double-take. In the image, the father was wearing a black sweatshirt.

“Huh!” A few clicks, and Omari loaded the folder for evidence. There was an image of sweats digested by lye. The description confirmed they had once been black. Omari started typing.

<<Dadtective30: What does this mean for the investigation? Does it prove anything?

<<ArnoldPalmer: Not really. Could explain why there aren’t library records for Cupul checking out sweats.

<<Dadtective30: He inherited an old pair? Or, maybe we could clear him if there are records showing his father’s sweatshirt was donated to the library.

<<ArnoldPalmer: What? That wouldn’t prove anyone innocent. His father could’ve owned multiple pairs of black sweats. Cupul kept one.

<<Dadtective30: Yes, I understand. Just trying to cool off my case fever.

<<ArnoldPalmer: Case fever? Explain?

A quick search in the CDS private site failed to return any hits for “case fever.” Damn! Omari had got caught repeating a Taino-ism.

<<Dadtective30: I mean I’m trying to keep an open mind and give Cupul the benefit of the doubt.

<<ArnoldPalmer: Oh, sure. I wondered how much I should be reading into their family photos. I mean, they look like they’re trying to hide something, but maybe they’re just bad at taking selfies.

<<Dadtective30: An all-too-common crime. Hey, you found this from the photo album from the apartment?

<<ArnoldPalmer: Online, actually. I did look through the album too.

Omari’s phone blipped. Someone in group chat had sent a message.

<<Mycaloth00: Check my vid. Maybe case-breaking? Also, the guy is super cute.

That did sound promising. But Omari wouldn’t let himself burn up with suspicion. No, he was cool as an ice-water cooler.

The video started with a door opening. A man stood there, as lean as a goalpost. Red lanky hair, he was tall even with his bad posture and a forward lean. Above his head, Ben clipped in and out of the doorframe. He gazed at Detective Myca with a twinkling intelligence.

She introduced herself, asked a few basic questions. As soon as Ben spoke, Omari gasped. The man’s voice was deep and resonant. He could’ve been a hall-of-fame sports announcer.

“I last saw Doctor Cupul yesterday, on my way out for frisbee. That was 4:45 PM. I was running three minutes late. No, we did not speak. I refrain from initiating conversations with Cupul.”

“Why is that?” Myca asked.

“I would prefer not to say.” Behind Ben’s shoulder, multiple frisbees were mounted on the wall, disks of red, yellow, and green.

“Your answer will be kept confidential, within the CDS.”

“Like that video from the tool library?” Ben nodded toward the floating camera.

“No, not like that. We’ve booted the detective who leaked. Now, we’re most interested in getting to know Cupul. We’re worried he may have lied to people. Did you know he falsified his doctoral degree?”

“I am not surprised,” Ben said. “I fear the gentleman fabricates facts on history trivia night.”

“Oh dear! I hope that is the worst Cupul has done to you.”

“Detective, I wish to return to my composing. Let me save us both some time. Last Tuesday at 1:35 PM I was picking up my laundry from the floor’s dryer, and I saw Cupul.”

“Did you?” Myra’s eyes got wide and her voice soft. “I mean, was he leaving or entering the building?”

“Leaving.”

That was just before the murder. Omari found himself clenching his armrests with sweating hands. Calm down, there, and be careful. This Ben had a clear grudge against Cupul.

“Cupul was not wearing his typical slacks,” Ben said. “And he carried a sports bag.”

Myca asked, “What was he wearing?”

“Sweatpants.”

Omari shot to his feet, his chair rolling away behind him.

“Were they a distinct color?” Myca asked.

“Black,” Ben said. “The same as the slacks he most often wears beneath his white coat.”

“Wow,” Myca said. “Why didn’t you come forward with this before?”

“The potential significance of his atypical behavior had not and could not have occurred to me before a detective knocked on my door asking about Cupul.”

“I suppose not.”

“If that will be all, goodbye.”

“Hey,” Myca said, “have you ever considered joining the CDS? We could really—”

“Goodbye, detective.” Ben began closing the door.

“Wait, Ben, would you like to go out, take in some psychedelics or a show? No detective stuff, just me.”

“I have said goodbye twice. Do not force me to say it a third.” The door shut.

Myca turned to the camera. “Is it wrong that I’m even more attracted to him now?”

Omari was impressed with her boldness.

This felt big, incredible, like watching an athlete break a world record. No, don’t foul this up, Omari. Maybe this Ben had heard about the sweatpants and added to detail to get back at Cupul for cheating on trivia nights. Maybe. Omari pattered off a text to Myca.

<<Dadtective30: Could Ben have found out about the sweatpants?

<<Mycaloth00: He can’t have. That’s what makes this exciting.

<<Dadtective30: A detective could’ve told him.

<<Mycaloth00: Like me? F u!

<<Dadtective30: I meant anyone local. Maybe by mistake.

<<Mycaloth00: Another leak? Isn’t it more likely he just saw Cupul wearing them?

<<Dadtective30: Not so sure. Here, let me send out a group message.

Omari texted a link to Ben’s public profile to the city’s CDS. “Urgent,” the message read, “do you know this witness?”

While waiting for the detectives to take a look, Omari wondered if Ben’s statement about the sweatpants would qualify as an “undisclosed fact” for the commissioner. It was so tempting to believe so.

Omari tried to remember what else he needed to do. There had been something, maybe to do with baby? No, she was on a hike with his husband. But there has been some other responsibility. Damn it! What had it been?

He had one and a half hours before the press conference.

Maybe he could strengthen Ben’s account, if someone else had seen Cupul in sweatpants. Omari snapped his fingers. He could eliminate Cupul as a suspect if the creep had worn his sweatpants all the way home. The killer’s had been destroyed. Unless, unless, he had brought a second pair in his bag just to disguise that fact.

The detectives hadn’t found the CC boots at Cupul’s apartment. Where were they? Omari sent inquiries to the reclamation department. He needed to know if they had repurposed a pair of those boots.

Omari scanned the case file. He noticed Taino had just interviewed one Hernando, proprietor of the taco stand that Cupul mentioned he had visited minutes after the murder. Would the street cook have noticed Cupul’s pants? Seemed a stretch, but Omari had to make every effort.

<<Dadtective30: Taino, could you please walk back to the taco stand and ask Hernando if he noticed what pants Cupul had on?

<<GumshoeTaino: Ok, but I don’t think he would’ve minded if Cupul had been wearing a bunny suit.

Omari tidied up his computer table, checking his phone every ten seconds for a reply. Waiting was even more excruciating with the growing feeling he was forgetting something, something important. Whatever it was would make his husband sigh and fall silent for a while. In that kind of quiet, doubts about your relationship commitment could be ever so loud.

One hour remained until kickoff.

The cry of Omari’s phone made him jump. He had received a message.

<<GumshoeTaino: Cupul is a regular, but Hernando didn’t notice anything different.

<<Dadtective30: Forget that. Have you seen Myca’s interview from today?

<<GumshoeTaino: I’ll watch it now.

The next few minutes felt like a few hours. Omari found himself staring into the darkness of his phone. At last, it lit up in a series of texts.

<<GumshoeTaino: Will be hard to corroborate. Few would have the acuity to notice subtle pants, both black.

<Ben is well known in community for his memory.

<He would’ve mentioned if Cupul wore neighbor’s stolen boots. Maybe they were in bag and changed on train?

Omari smashed open the browser tab with the local CDS website. Nine people had already replied to his inquiry about seeing Cupul on the train. This must’ve gone viral, citywide. Only, two responders claimed they had spotted one of the other men, the decoys. Well, maybe they had been on the train too.

To the other seven responders, Omari began drafting a reply. Had they seen Cupul changing into boots? No, Omari couldn’t send that. It would prime their answers. He needed to solicit undisclosed facts.

Omari asked them what the man had been doing, if anything. He received a message at once, not from the witnesses but Taino.

<GumshoeTaino: I do suspect Cupul, given what we found in his apartment and what we didn’t find.

<<Dadtective30: What didn’t we find?

<<GumshoeTaino: Do you really want to give it away? You should be able to figure it out.

<<Dadtective30: You mean the CC boots?

<<GumshoeTaino: Those and….

<<Dadtective30: I don’t have time for this. Tell me.

<<GumshoeTaino: The sports bag, of course. Where is it?

<<Dadtective30: Does he have a gym locker?

<<GumshoeTaino: None in his community. Already checked. The bag’s absence suggests Cupul dumped it with the CC boots and is guilty.

Omari started to write back but stopped. An alert blinked in the CDS mailbox. Four new replies. Yes! They came from the witnesses. They must’ve been still online, as they wrote back fast. The first two described him sitting; the next claimed he rode the train standing. The fourth read, “I noticed him because he was changing his shoes. He put his feet on the floor. He was wearing socks, but still.”

Omari rocked back, squeezing his face between his hands. This was it. Coincidences could only stretch so far until they snapped into something incriminating. And who was the hero who had delivered this critical piece of information? The email handle was BigKnob69.

Writing back, Omari asked “Did you happen to notice the specific footwear?”

<<BigKnob69: I don’t remember. Sorry. Maybe tennis shoes?

No matter. Omari moved the emails to evidence and sent them along with Myca’s video to the commissioner.

<<Dadtectiv00: Is this enough to grow a criminal tree?

Seconds ticked by. Omari gazed at a ballgame, remembering nothing. Half an hour remained, in his own personal countdown. When it finally came, the message alert sounded louder than a game-ending bell.

<<Benoit03Blanc: No tree is a criminal. It’s our flourishing understanding of the truth.

<You mangled my metaphor, but you may have succeeded in linking Cupul to the crime. First, confirm the emails came from a verifiable witness and not a detective feeding their inside knowledge back into the case under a pseudonym, BigKnob69.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry!” Omari requested an in-person meeting immediately with the mystery witness. Luckily, the reply came just as quickly in the affirmative. Omari texted Detective Asali Dhillan to interview them, as she was closest. Omari leaned back, feeling much like a commissioner himself.

Only twenty minutes remained. To pass the time, he checked new replies to his CDS solicitation. Another seemed amazing. One person wrote, “He left the train as I was getting on. Didn’t have his cyber name on, so couldn’t tell you who he was, but at the time I thought it was odd. He was putting on a mask, which seemed late if he was wearing it to protect others on the train from his germs.”

Another undisclosed link! Omari checked the case file, and, yes, the kid who had glimpsed the killer in the library had noticed he wore a surgical mask.

Only, would Omari have time to verify this email witness before the press conference? Probably not.

Just then, Detective Asali Dhillan sent her video, along with a message. “Is this important? Hope so! Best wishes.”

Omari scanned it. To his non-surprise, Bigknob69 looked like a perfectly average guy, but Omari could still kiss him for this speedy testimony. He forwarded it to the commissioner.

<<Benoit03Blanc: We approve your request to classify him as a suspect.

“Goooooal!” Omari leapt out of his chair, hands raised.

He had won! Now how could he celebrate? Maybe with a dessert?

Oh no! The pumpkin pie!

He dashed into the hall, dreading to smell charred carbon, fearing to see black smoke billowing from the communal kitchen. No fire alarms had gone off yet, but it might when he opened the oven. What would be left? A pie pan resembling an impact crater, filled with something as inedible as overheated tire.

That pie was his husband’s favorite. He would be the most disappointed.

Only Omari didn’t smell a reek. Approaching the kitchen, he breathed in a warm scent of pumpkin and cinnamon. There the pie lay, on the countertop, orange and triumphant.

Omari pulled out his phone and found a note left in cyberspace. “The pie seemed done, so I took it out. Look forward to trying it at tonight’s potluck.” It was signed by his neighbor, Agnes.

The pie pan was cool enough to touch. Omari lifted it overhead like an Olympian holding up a gold medal.

four days, five hours, thirty minutes

Juul knew she would soon be watched by the world. Interest in the case of the sledgehammer killer had filled the Cathedral plaza with reporters and news drones. So many gathered around her digital podium that they had paused the dance battles. The kinestage had cleared. All attention magnified on her.

Any mistake, any mispronunciation might stick with her for the rest of her life. She could see herself made into a meme, text in all-caps flashing across her face, frozen for all time in embarrassment.

“CEX audience,” Juul subvocalized.

Beside Dominik Kang in the front row now sat the parents of Cupul. Their unblinking eyes looked sad but expectant. The mother’s figure flickered between bent and upright, between skin of poisoned grey and healthy brown.

Juul had trouble imagining someone so monstrous they could kill their own parents, but that made it all more important for her to speak the truth. It wasn’t her job to reveal their possible murder tonight, but to continue the investigation, Vittoria and the rest of the CDS depended on her to begin to cut through Cupul’s lies.

“CEX notes. CEX blocklist.” She had programmed a revenge against the channels that had broadcasted the unedited crime scene. Ten seconds after she started, their live feeds would fade into the CDS logo with links to more responsible news.

Beside Cupul’s other victims sat cats, dogs, a possum, and one parrot. It took her back to when she had practiced speechcraft in front of her pet fish. They were great listeners.

With the haze of drones banished from sight, she could now see the stars. She rose to her toes as she let herself fill with purpose.

“The Citizen Detective Society has identified a suspect for the Lakewood Tool Library murder.” Juul waved a hand, and a holoscreen beside her lit up with the worst photo they could find of Cupul. It showed him in his lab coat running after an escaped spider. “His public name is Doctor Cupul. He is no doctor. He boasts of his service in the Climate Force. He never served. He presents himself as an upstanding member of the Cathedral Community. He lies.”

Seraphina al-Najjar stepped from behind into Juul’s field of view. The distraction made her blink. Was something wrong?

“Doctor Cupul, that is Cupul, has consistently lied to his community—”

“She’s the liar.” The voice came out of nowhere. Seraphina grabbed someone invisible to Juul. A ghost shouted, “They’re persecuting me. They broke into my apartment.”

Oh no! Juul remembered that voice from Vittoria’s live video, that rich timbre and breathless patter.

“CEX inquisition,” she said it aloud, she was so startled.

Cupul snapped into view, Seraphina holding him in an arm lock. With his free hand he pointed at Juul’s head, her neck, her eyes. His own face was near melting with anger, something less human and more plastic mask. “The CDS robbed my place, and they’ll break into yours next. They broke the legs of my spiders. They killed my pets.”

“We had a warrant from the UU Library.” Juul floated forward. She couldn’t feel her feet, adrenaline had hit her so hard. She couldn’t let Cupul steal this stage. Couldn’t let him murder truth too. “We didn’t kill any of his pets. That is a lie. But he—”

“The CDS is just as unjust and bloodthirsty as the outdated police. They should be banned from this city.”

The reporters focused from her to Cupul. Their expressions bent in mercenary glee, in dramatic ecstasy. Didn’t they see the danger of giving attention to someone with psychopathy?

But that was her job to establish. “Another lie. Not only is Cupul a pathological liar, but in his apartment we found evidence—”

“She’s the liar.” He talked over her. Vittoria had kept up, but Juul was afraid she could not. He lunged for her, only Serpahina holding him back. “The CDS will say anything to get power, to interfere with our lives, to pry into your most intimate moments.”

A message popped into the corner of her eye, from Vittoria. Had she read Juul’s mind? No, far worse, she must be watching.

<<the_adVeecate: Let him hit you.

What, no!

Seraphina let go, and Cupul strode straight at her, arm raised.

Trust Vittoria. Juul thought she should, but everything inside her screamed she should run, away from the psychopath, away from the cruel cameras, race from the spotlight for the rest of her life. This was horrible.

This was wonderful, a chance to beam with truth, to speak words people would remember forever. Juul would stand her ground, and she would try to dodge.

The problem was, by that time it was too late to respond. Cupul had reached her. And he swung.

Around to face the crowd of cameras. “We will never have privacy, we will never have peace of mind until the CDS is dissolved.”

He had stepped in front of her, blocked her. Juul pushed beside him. She had to match him if not in speed at least in conviction. “We found corroborating evidence that Cupul killed and mutilated nine pets in the Cathedral Community. Detective Taino.”

Taino, green capped and coated, carried the framed skeletal abomination into view.

“That’s my family pet they stole.” Cupul stepped in front of her again. “They have no respect for the grief we feel for animals and—”

“Not only did Cupul likely kill his cat, but you’ll see the bones labeled from eight other pets. We have matched those we could with missing-animal reports and—”

Cupul reached for her, past her, and grabbed the framed skeleton, hid it from view. “If we let the CDS steal and make up accusations, what will stop them from ruining your life next?”

“You can find an interactive display of the various skeletons, with links to the killed pets, on the CDS website.”

“Only the CDS killed pets. They killed them.” His words landed on her like hammer blows. He was louder and bigger.

Juul’s legs were numb, and it felt like she was being held up by her voice alone. “We thank Veterinarian Rumsien for identifying the pet bones Cupul collected. Would you like to step forward and speak a few words?”

The vet shook her head. Juul couldn’t blame her.

Cupul threw down the skeleton, and the glass shattered from its frame. “This isn’t mine. Whose is it? They planted it in my apartment. The CDS killed my pets, and yours are next.”

“That is a lie. We are immediately releasing video proving the bones came from—“

“You’re the liar.” His hands beat up and down in front of her face. “And the video will prove—You doctored it, trying to frame me to cover—”

“Cupul.” Medusa interrupted him. The reporter stepped forward from the crowd of cameras, pressed in, snakes coming between Juul and him. “You falsified your degree and service certificate. Those deceptions contributed to your community’s decision to award you a key to the Cathedral. Do you plan to return it?”

Juul could kiss them on the lips, including every one of the vipers. Bring on the fangs. Seeing their venom aimed at Cupul was the sexiest thing she had ever seen.

“I earned the key,” he said. “I earned my doctorate and rescued—”

“This is an example of gaslighting,” Medusa said. “Constant lying and cruelty toward animals are both signs of psychopathy. Cupul, do you believe….”

“Detective Juul,” a drone spoke with a human voice from a remote reporter. Air currents from its propellers ruffled her hair. “What evidence do you have that Cupul is the sledgehammer killer?”

She held down her locks along with her nerves. “The investigation is still ongoing, and we are withholding information that could endanger citizens. At least until we have secured a house arrest for the suspect.”

“When will you petition for one?” This came from another reporter leaning in, angling his camera over several shoulders and at Juul’s breasts.

“Advocate Vittoria has scheduled a meeting with the Cathedral Council tomorrow at 9:00 AM. In the meantime, we ask this community join us in our search for truth. If you think Cupul has ever lied to you, contact us. If he has abused you, contact the CDS. If he has hurt you or your loved ones, message us.”

“Contact me if you’re afraid of the CDS.” Cupul dug fingers into her shoulder and pushed her aside. He was backstepping from Medusa’s many eyes. “Reach out to me if I’ve helped you, if my research saved you, if you love your pets.”

He retreated from Medusa and their cameras. Juul was left to answer a few basic questions. Yes, Cupul lied about the CDS. Yes, black belts will keep him under watch. Yes, he collected bones from animals he killed to make a gruesome amalgamation.

The rest she had trouble remembering. It felt like she drifted out of herself. She saw Seraphina al-Najjar leading a trembling woman past algae lamps, glowing green. Juul could spot a pair of monkeys on a nearby rooftop, with fluffy faces and goofy eyes. In a high garden’s papaya tree, they pointed at her spirit and squealed. How could they see her?

She giggled. Reality popped, and she was back in her body, limp in a seat, sweat drenched, and feet freezing.

“Here, my dear.” Vittoria handed her a mug of peppermint tea.

It singed her tongue, but she drank it all. She wanted to return the cup to the table between them. But her arms weren’t working right. Luckily, someone standing behind her caught the mug before it cracked on the floor.

“You.” Juul gazed up at Vittoria. Her size made their cafe table look like a plaything. “You told him to hit me. No, you wanted him to.”

“Only to solidify public opinion against him. If he had, Seraphina could have pinned him to the ground. You could’ve completed the rest uninterrupted.”

“If I could still stand, after he hit me.”

“You act like he had a sledgehammer,” Vittoria said.

“And you’re disappointed he didn’t hit me.”

“What I am is proud of you, Juul.” Vittoria offered a hand.

Juul pushed it away, or she tried. “You can keep me right out of your plans for punching bags.”

“Very well. I have another scheme.” Vittoria gazed from Juul to someone behind her.

Juul turned and came face to face with the cratered purple of Princess Pluto on Seraphina’s shirt. It was a good cartoon.

Vittoria leaned in. She was sitting on a pair of chairs. Her grey eyes dipped level with the black belt’s brown ones. “Seraphina al-Najjar, if I give you a hypothetical scenario, would you honor me with an honest answer?”

“Huh,” the black belt said. “I suppose so.”

“Should Cupul attack you with murderous intent, would you be willing to shatter his jaw?”

four days, seventeen hours

Eše'hemeo'o knew he had something special when Mery asked to go with him to the waste-reclamation plant.

“I’ve never been,” she said, “but it fulfills an important function for the Library.”

He felt that same pang of suspicion, lesser now, barely a twinge. Mery had been relentless in her pursuit of Cupul’s tracker microbot. Eše'hemeo'o doubted she would sabotage the investigation. Besides, he didn’t mind keeping an eye on her.

He sensed he could trust her. Before dawn, he had gazed up to the Morning Star; he had prayed to the Creator for wisdom. A new day would come, a new path for him, and a new case. He had greeted the sun, welcomed the light with reverent silence. He was where he needed to be, and he felt at peace.

His equipoise withstood even the reclamation plant’s stench. After all, decay was an essential part of life. Judging by the smell, the agents of renewal here were powerful.

He and Mery neared a low building with multiple entrances for loading. People carried out urns of fertilizer or sacks of grit to carrier bikes. A dump truck beeped as it backed up. A roundish man rolled up to them on a tricycle wagon.

“Detective, Librarian,” the man said, “I thought I would be late, but we’re all on time since we arrived together.”

“Quite so,” Eše'hemeo'o said. “Thank you for agreeing to meet us here, Ya'ax.”

Ya'ax bounded off his bike and offered a hug in greeting. Eše'hemeo'o declined. Mery accepted. Ya'ax was big and wide, both in girth and smile. Like Detective Myca, he had chosen to fly the trans flag by his public name, pink stripes and blue.

“Wonderful,” Ya'ax said. “Now you’re searching for something in particular?”

“A pair of boots,” Eše'hemeo'o. If they found them, with Cupul’s DNA, it was done. Dominik’s story would have an ending. Otherwise, the case would go on. They would unbury Cupul’s mother to see if he had poisoned her. Better not to disturb the dead, but every spirit deserved to have their truth told.

“That truck just finished its circuit of the city’s lost-and-founds.” Ya'ax pointed. “We clean out anything that’s been there longer than a month.”

“My item would have been more recent. I doubt it ended up in that sort of bin. Everything from trash cans goes directly to this center?”

“Yes, from dumpsters to here. I pick up anything misplaced on the street. It all ends up sorted by bots.”

Inside, they walked beside a conveyer belt. A procession of possessions flowed by, beneath the aperture eyes of AIs. Animatronic tentacles searched out and suction-cupped every last piece of metal, down to shards. Glass shunted down another belt before tinkling into a recycling shoot. More mechanical arms reached down, plucking objects; a frayed teddy bear snatched, a lone pink sock rescued. The stuff dropped into crates. Above one floated the translucent word Shoes.

“It’s empty.” Eše'hemeo'o could’ve been sad, but he had already accepted failure as an outcome.

“Another bot carries them this way.” Ya'ax grinned and beckoned. He wore knee-high galoshes and flowing green clothing. His work had earned him an impressive cyberspace modification; fabric billowed around him as if he wore a robe underwater. “This is where the programs attempt to ID shoe brands and all that. If it’s the Library’s, you get an alert. Same for any collectors, cobblers, looking for a specific shoe. You’re notified.”

“I need to set up that contingency,” Eše'hemeo'o said. He paced in front of a table of shoes, some paired, some solo. At first glance he didn’t see the CC boots.

Mery held her nose, her eyes glittering. “This is rich.”

“Oh, sorry.” Ya'ax tapped some circuitry implanted between his eye and nose. “I forget about the smell. Most people who work here can switch off their olfactory nerve. Here are some masks, to blunt the stink.”

“Thank you.” Eše'hemeo'o put one over his face. He wasn’t sure it helped. Or maybe the stench had gotten in him too deep and now it would never come out.

“Rough luck for you,” Ya'ax said, “the sewage plant is next door. That’s where the worst comes from. You don’t need that shit, but they built it together to all be downwind.”

Mery gazed over the shoes. “So if I see anything usable, I can claim it for the Library?”

“You can reclaim it anyway you like.” Ya'ax backed away, waving. “I’ll be unloading my cart, if you need me.”

Alone with Mery, Eše'hemeo'o rested the heels of his hands on the table. “It’s not here.”

“And I’m not seeing anything for the Library.” She passed her fingers over a lone sandal, to grip a pair of fuzzy slippers. They might have once been blue. Their animal faces were missing any eyes. She laughed. “Apart from these, which are clearly for me.”

“Are you sure? These seem more like you.” Eše'hemeo'o lifted some dancing shoes painted with cat whiskers and, unbelievably, with mock tails sticking out from their heels. “Yes, it’s a tripping hazard, but your devotion to the cat god will protect you.”

“Blessed Bast!” Mery’s smile cleared the air. “Those are too small even for me.”

“Really? I—”

A woman cleared her throat behind them. “Excuse me, I believe there are some shoes for me here.”

Her public profile listed her as a cobbler. She darted between them, picked up some red trainers, and fled. Either the woman was shy, or she too felt oppressed by the stink.

Then she came back and snatched another pair. “I can use these for parts. Goodbye.”

Eše'hemeo'o turned to Mery. “I’m done shoe shopping. Shall we?”

“Yes, where next in the grand tour?” Mery nestled close.

He caught her eyes drifting once again to his pectoral device. She hadn’t mentioned so, but he assumed she liked it because Egyptians once wore jewelry like it on the chest. That’s not why he picked the design, but he counted himself fortunate it suited her.

They met back up with Ya'ax. Eše'hemeo'o asked, “Say the boots were cut into pieces or damaged beyond repair. Where would they go?”

“The AI would still nab them for shoes. It’s pretty good. Unless maybe you chop up everything, even the soles.”

“Let’s say that happened.”

“Then the conveyor belt would carry them to General Decom.” Ya'ax led them between sunbeams streaming in from open-air skylights. “Wait. If either of you just ate a nice meal you would hate to see again, you probably should turn back.”

“I’ll risk it,” Eše'hemeo'o said.

Mery nodded. “I’m centered.”

A warning sign read: GENERAL DECOMPOSITION. DO NOT LEAN OVER PIT. DO NOT CLIMB INTO PIT. WASH YOUR HANDS & CLOTHES.

The conveyor belt ended. A broken punch bowl reached the terminus and tumbled off, rolled through the air, and landed with a clatter and a splat. It began to sink into a writhing mass of garbage, goop, and insects.

Beetles scuttled over mounds of trash and waste, their carapaces spotted oranges, speckled teals, or coppery. Between the bugs, it wasn’t just dirt. Something pale like mucus covered the refuse, bubbling and belching.

“What is that?” Eše'hemeo'o asked.

“It was named after its designer,” Ya'ax said, “but we just call it fantastic fungus, or f-fungus for short.”

“That’s what breaks down plastics?” Mery gripped the handrails and peered down.

“Yeah, amazing isn’t it?” Ya'ax beamed, oblivious to the reek. “Some mega microbes in that soup too.”

“You collect the methane?” Mery gazed up at vents.

“Yes,” Ya'ax said, “for fuel.”

“The fungus dissolves rubber?” Eše'hemeo'o asked.

“Sure does, but nothing very fast. You can stir the pot, see if you find anything.” Ya'ax handed him a pitchfork. “The only rule is don’t fall in.”

Mery asked, “If someone did have an accident, what would happen?”

“The only real danger,” Ya’ax said, “is drowning.”

“The only one?” Mery made a face. With a snick, she hooked a safety belt onto Eše'hemeo'o’s waist. She tested its strength with a tug. “That’s a relief.”

“The consistency is like quicksand.” Ya’ax pointed down to the sludge of garbage. “Hard to swim in, but as long as you get out, no problem. You would simply need a long shower and a longer therapy session.”

“Please no more reassurances.” Eše'hemeo'o winked at Mery. “Or I’ll lose my nerve.”

“Sending you a quick-alert link. Click it if you fall in.” Ya'ax waved himself off again. “Good luck.”

“Eše'hemeo'o, over here.” Mery beckoned to the other side of the chamber. The room was partitioned, fungal gunk and then human waste. The night soil flowed in from the sewage plant. More insects droned. The librarian squeezed his arm. “Wow! Look at all the scarabs.”

These beetles shone, so many together it resembled a hoard of gold and gems. Eše'hemeo'o and Mery held hands and admired the marvel, for as long as they could bear.

He returned to where they had entered to poke at the sludge. It was hard to manipulate. Torquing the pitchfork, he brought to light a half slice of bread, a collapsed milk crate, and a bag of what looked like toenails. Most of all he saw shattered pottery and medical supplies. Between dissolving trash bags spilled piles of gloves without hands, diapers, and soiled bandages. Beetles thrummed into the air, their wing sheaths lifting as they flew.

“Not that I don’t enjoy this,” Mery said, “but I’m going to check their wood pile.”

“Wait, can you see if Cupul checked out a saw? He would’ve needed something to cut up the boots.”

She flicked a few fingers and scanned the air to her left. “No, he didn’t.”

“What about his neighbors?”

“I know. I’ll check later.” Mery backed away.

There had to be a better method, to do his due diligence without sifting for pieces of soles in what he increasingly suspected was a swimming pool full of slime mold. Was this one giant organism?

Eše'hemeo'o could check in with construction sites in the Cathedral Community, see if Cupul had borrowed a saw blade. Maker spaces might also have those tools, and—

A foot bobbed to the surface.

Reeling back, Eše'hemeo'o collected himself against a wall. No, he couldn’t have seen part of a human leg. He had been thinking of shoes and what filled them. He must have been mistaken. The detective looked again.

A pale sole, a stiff ankle, a leg sticking out from the muck.

No, this wasn’t possible. What were the odds a detective would chance upon a corpse?

Eše'hemeo'o reached with the pitchfork, expecting and hoping for it to puncture the hallucination. The stench must have made him see things. But no, the foot seemed real. Wedging the limb between two spokes, he began to pull.

Not as much resistance as he expected. It must be dismembered. Rigor mortis had clearly set in. Now he would have to open a new case, learn the truth behind another tragedy.

The ancestors must have guided him here. His destiny was to help this lost soul.

The leg popped out of the goo. Where it ended at the thigh was a clean cut. No trace of blood; it must have all drained out. In fact, he didn’t see any torn skin or bone, only a plastic indentation. The limb belonged to a mannequin.

Eše'hemeo'o laughed and laughed. His belly felt fit to bursting with relief. His eyes were watering, but that might’ve been the stink. He couldn’t wait to tell Mery. Only, before he left to find her, his eye caught on something gleaming.

It was a jewel scarab. The insect seemed sapphire. But as he leaned closer, its iridescence shifted from topaz, to gold, to emerald, and back again. He couldn’t help but think how exquisite it would look as a broach around Mery’s neck.

He appeared to be in luck. This beetle wasn’t moving. The fungus didn’t seem to bother most, but yes, this bug seemed dead.

Eše'hemeo'o gloved-up and took out an evidence bag. He collected the jewel scarab. One of its legs came off in the goop. He picked it out and got it too.

The cat shoes had been a joke. This she would love.

He knew a jeweler. Yes, she would be happy to help. Or maybe he needed taxidermy first? Eše'hemeo'o wasn’t sure, but he would send an inquiry today.

At the sound of Mery’s feet, he hid the present behind his back. She held out a plank of dark wood. “Jackpot! It’s purpleheart.”

The grain did have shades of maroon, brown, and pink.

“I’m going to build it into a piece of furniture for you. What are you missing?”

“One board would make for an awfully small table.”

“I have others.” Mery clucked her tongue. “Even one purpleheart will elevate a piece. You’ll love it. What do you want?”

Eše'hemeo'o wasn’t sure. At that moment, he didn’t feel like he needed anything. Gazing at Mery, at her open arms, at her riotous enthusiasm, he couldn’t help but believe: They had come to the dump in search of evidence but found something even more precious.

five days, two hours

Taino wanted to know what Cupul’s scientific collaborators had to say about him. When Guadalupe reached out, a doctor of arachnology, Taino agreed to meet at her earliest convenience. She chose a local market.

Straw hat on against the noon sun, the detective waited amidst the gourds. Gardeners rolled in with barrows of squash, with wild shapes, and long green courgettes. The two checked their screens to see AI estimates of how many vegetables of each variety would be needed; the pair nestled that number together into stalls.

“Would you look at this one.” A gardener with a fusion-blue conical hat tapped an image in cyberspace. People who picked up produce often left messages of thanks, or pictures of dishes made with the fresh food. “Courgettes stuffed with lasagne. We’ll have to try that, yes?”

The other gardener agreed, and they went on their way.

Guadalupe came via tricycle taxi. The average driver talked faster than they pedaled and only did the job because they loved chatting with anyone and everyone. Taino caught the tail end of their conversation, with Guadalupe speaking. “...the daddy longlegs is a spider, as long as you’re referring to the one that spins webs in your home. No idea why people insist on misclassifying them simply because they have small abdomens.”

The arachnologist herself was petite. To put it plainly, she had dwarfism. Under her public name she had listed her condition, Laron syndrome, no doubt to head off questions. Taino tapped the floating text in their field of view to load its wiki page.

The driver hopped off his bike. He offered her a hand down from the rickshaw. “Thank you. I always thought daddy longlegs had to be spiders.”

She climbed down herself. “No, thank you, and I would appreciate help with the jars.”

He lifted glass containers and clay pots from the taxi into a waiting shopping cart. It had rolled up, pushed by a picker bot. “And is it true the longlegs have deadly poison, they just can’t bite humans?”

“Nonsense. Their venom is weak, not that I hold it against them.”

“You are a true spider saint,” the driver said with a wink. He peered at a jar he was placing in the cart. It glittered with an etched pattern of a spider web. The next shone with a design of scorpions, tail stingers interlocking.

Taino introduced themself, since their cyberspace name was off, and offered to assist loading the reusable vessels.

“We have got it,” Guadalope said, “Detective.”

The picker bot was also handling the custom-glazed pots. Taino could’ve been miffed she trusted it more than them, but as long as she confided information about Cupul, that’s what mattered in the end.

Taino wasn’t so very clumsy.

They were left little to do except follow. After Guadalupe said her goodbyes to the driver, the robot pushed her cart. She made a swiping motion, transferring her grocery list to its processor. With its scoop arm, it gathered dragon fruit from a stall and slid them into one of her pots. The colorful food looked like little fireballs.

Guadalupe walked behind the shopping cart. “First, can you tell me why you’re interested in Cupul’s lies?”

“The CDS is charged with uncovering truth. Classifying falsehoods as such is part of that.”

“And if the lie doesn’t concern anyone else?”

“Even then, in this case.”

“Because,” she said, “you need to suck away his community support before bringing him before the council of sortitions.”

Well then, this wasn’t the insight Taino had been hoping to hear.

“You needn’t look at me like that, Detective. I’m no friend of Cupul’s.”

A relief for her to say so. “Any information you can provide about Cupul would be most helpful.”

“I’m sure.”

She did not speak further. Taino couldn’t tell if she didn’t trust them specifically, maybe due to certain viral videos, or if talking about people behind their backs didn’t come naturally.

A shame. Gossiping is next to godliness.

Her glassware clinked on the cart as they rolled down a ramp, leaving the open-air stalls to descend to the submarket. Down here it was ten degrees cooler, and Taino missed their coat. They entered an aisle for flour and grains. Clay urns filled the shelves. The giant containers looked similar from a distance. As Taino neared, labels flickered into existence.

Nutrition facts flashed in pink. Green text boasted of genetic modifications. This amaranth used less water to grow. That cornmeal contained more sucrose. The bot lifted a lid and scooped up some golden flour. In the cereal section, video reviews praised the products nearby. Chocolate scent wafted from an urn full of cacao puffs.

“I thought this would be a low-key place to meet,” Guadalupe said. “But now I feel like I’m being judged.”

“Not at all.” Maybe a little.

Guadalupe sighed. “We should’ve guessed he lied about his doctorate.”

Finally, she was talking about Cupul.

“Many small things make more sense. But what you don’t already know, what I wanted to tell you…”

“Yes?” Taino tucked their hands into their suspenders, to keep from rubbing their palms together in anticipation. Guadalupe was one of Cupul’s colleagues. She might know him better than any. What would she say? How many secrets might she betray?

“Cupul never once organized lunch.”

Taino waited for her to go on.

She did not.

Someone passed, pushing their own cart full of amphora glazed a radical pink.

“Ah,” Taino said, “so Cupul did not order a meal for the team, or cook?”

“Correct. We had a rotating schedule. Whenever it was his turn, Cupul would say he had done it last time. Or the time before. But he never did, not once.”

“And you didn’t bother pressing the issue?”

“We did. Everyone came together with a list with names and dates to prove it was his turn.” She dug a fist into her palm. Her hands were wrinkly as the skin of a hairless sphynx cat. “He still denied it, told us to our faces we were lying bullies and discriminating against him.”

This was not the revelation Taino had hoped for but one they perhaps should’ve expected.

The cart stopped at the milk section. The bot unloaded several empty bottles and replaced them with sealed ones full of goat and plant milks.

“So you would like us to list on the CDS website,” Taino said, “that Cupul was derelict in his lunch duties.”

“We already established you wanted any lie of his.”

“True, we did.”

“But it is important for everyone to know, Cupul’s prevarications were as disorientating as they were infuriating. To avoid his share of responsibility, he would lie until you doubted your own sanity.”

“It does put his outbursts during the press conference into perspective,” they said.

Taino had hoped for a reaction. She gave none.

“Do you think Cupul capable of murder?”

“In no scenario would I ever answer that question,” she said.

Deciding to wait her out, Taino put hands in the back pockets of their suit pants and strolled. While doing so, they snuck a closer look at the woman.

Rather than electronic tattoos or handheld devices, Guadalupe wore something resembling a crown. Six dark orbs attached to a circlet that likely analyzed her hand movements for commands. A cluster of four on the front disturbed Taino, though they couldn’t say why. The detective did get a creeping sense she could see out of the cybernetic cabochons on the back of her head.

“He didn’t lift a finger to write the reports,” she said at last. “Wouldn’t even copy edit them. But he insisted his name come first.”

“Did he complete the most research?”

“No. Cupul never worked more than he wanted to.”

Taino still detected a hesitancy on her part to speak. “Then how did he arrange it?”

“Blackmailed some of the others, I think.”

Again Taino waited for more.

She didn’t elaborate.

“If you are worried about retaliation, the CDS can keep your information confidential. And the black belts are watching Cupul.”

“Good.” Instead of speaking more she peered between two urns at a web.

Taino didn’t see a spider but didn’t care to look too closely. “My understanding is researchers decide by consensus whose name comes first on their papers. What made you choose Cupul?”

She shook her head. Guadalupe seemed middle aged, judging by the grey streaks in her well-tended bun. At the same time, her round face was smooth and youthful. She must have declined gene therapy and body modification for her dwarfism. Taino could have asked why but wasn’t about to risk a question she might like even less.

Cupul had a line on her. That was clear. It could’ve been a threat, spoken or tacit. She could be blackmailed too. Cupul might have armed himself with a shameful secret of her own. Might they have once been lovers?

Taino was beginning to resign themself to the idea they might never know, at least not from her. “Is there a colleague we should reach out to? Someone else who worked with Cupul?”

“I’ll let them make that decision for themselves.” She began following her cart back up the ramp, toward the door out.

“Well, if Cupul were a spider, what species would he be?”

“He’s no spider,” Guadalupe said. “He’s a tick.”

“How so?”

“It’s a common misconception arachnologists only study spiders,” she said. “Cupul is a tick that goes straight for your groin, that you don’t notice until his idiosoma has bloated with your blood. Then he leaves you diseased.”

Disturbingly, Guadalupe sounded like she spoke from a position of authority.

“I have accomplished everything I needed to, Detective. I won’t take more of your time.” She exited the market with the picker bot. Another trike taxi pulled up. She must’ve pinged for it.

“I have one last question, if you’ll forgive me.”

“Yes?” Her tone said no.

“Spiders, just how many do I eat in my sleep yearly?”

“Zero.”

“None? Thank god! I’ve always worried about that.”

“You’ll have to find your protein elsewhere.”

“The CDS appreciates your cooperation, Doctor Guadalupe.”

“No need to be so formal,” she said. “Simply call me Spider Queen.”

five days, six hours, forty-three minutes

This was taking far too long. Eše'hemeo'o had waited in Everlife Forest for hours, on a park bench. Now the sun had set. After dark, the wooded cemetery took on an entirely different cast.

By day, Everlife Forest was a place for joggers, stoners, and mourners. People picnicked here for the peace. They strolled beneath trees, got high, or exercised. Some few came to visit the arboreal graves of their loved ones. When they approached the sapling planted above their deceased, they could remember in silence. Or they could choose to see something, a cyberspace manifestation of the dead. Family or friends would provide the media, or it could’ve been noted in the will.

While walking to kill time, Eše'hemeo'o had come close enough to a coral tree to see a digital apparition. The dead man strode grinning from the trunk, arms open in an embrace. He hugged empty air then faded. Beneath a morro tree with its branches sprouting with fruit growths, a girl swung down and did a somersault, straight through Eše'hemeo'o. He felt a chill of absence, and tears pricked his eyes. Hopefully, the girl had lived a full life and had only chosen to represent herself at her youngest.

At that point he had accessed his personal interface and turned off the eerie displays. He did not need distractions. Soon, he would join other detectives in digging up Cupul’s mother, for tissue samples to test for toxins. Or, so he had hoped. Hours had gone by. Nakamura had come and left, taking his dogs home to rest.

Eše'hemeo'o was left to wonder. Cupul had apparently lied about serving on the Climate Force. How had he slipped that into conversations? “Lovely day, isn’t it? Far nicer than my time in Sudan.”

No, Eše'hemeo'o had better not think about that. It would make him too mad.

That morning, Vittoria had won sortition permission to exhume the mother. He had brought his sampling kit, then done nothing but wait. He loaded Vittoria’s live video, which showed her marching with a vigil for Dominik Kang. The procession had started in Lakewood and snaked all the way through Cathedral. At this rate it would take hours yet to reach Everlife Forest. He started typing.

<<SunRoad: Are we deferring the exhumation?

<<the_adVeecate: No.

<<Benoit03Blanc: Hi, SunRoad! We are monitoring the situation. Given the worldwide interest in the case, the CDS rolled a commissioner sortition. We’re working remotely to observe and coordinate. It’s taking some time, but we’re still in favor of continuing today.

<<SunRoad: The day’s over.

The sun had set behind the Library’s step pyramid. Shadows had swollen behind the cemetery trees, and the atmosphere had changed into a different beast entirely. At night, people called it Ghost Forest. In the darkness, it was a place for exciting trysts, for dares and dumb games, for doubts, for friends close by and for frights.

Insubstantial hugs and acrobatic girls might be scary enough, but Eše'hemeo'o had heard it got much worse. Anyone laid to rest here could decide to leave a second media recording, from when they had worn a frightening costume in life, or simply of them leaping forward and yelling. They might draw a clip from their favorite scary movie. It was all considered to be good fun.

He had never partaken. Eše'hemeo'o had seen enough darkness. And he found the idea of evil spirits a bit ridiculous. But proceeding in the shadowy woods posed unnecessary risk. He returned to his tablet.

<<SunRoad: We should postpone to tomorrow.

<<Dadtective30: Hey, SunRoad. You should know Cupul is rallying something for tonight. I’m watching him and will post updates.

<<SunRoad: Can we stop him? Cut off his internet access?

<<the_adVeecate: Single-occupancy house arrest plus online isolation is too close to solitary confinement for any council to accept.

<<SunRoad: Then we are letting him gather a mob?

<<Benoit03Blanc: We anticipate Cupul is trying to prevent you from exhuming his mother. This reinforces the importance of the tox test. We believe we can organize better and faster.

This felt the opposite of fast to Eše'hemeo'o. He sat back on his bench, beneath a ceiba tree with bark spiked like a crocodile’s hide.

Seriously, why had Cupul lied about the Climate Force? To get laid?

No, Eše'hemeo'o had to do this for the right reasons. He had to tell Dominik’s story. He couldn’t think about Cupul together with Mery, walking together, laughing together, undressing together.

Focus, Eše'hemeo'o. The more you fixate on an end result, the less you’re concentrating on the process.

If they found proof Cupul had poisoned his mother, they could make a strong case the murderer had struck again in the tool library. Without anything like that, they only had a stink of circumstantial evidence. Eše'hemeo'o thought over what might have been Cupul’s part in Dominik’s story.

Cupul had left his apartment in the sweats he knew would soon be drenched in blood. He hid them under his white coat. On the train he switched into his stolen CC boots. Upon reaching the Lakewood stop, he took off his coat, put it in a sports bag with his shoes, and donned a surgical mask.

Cupul wanted to strike back at Mery, maybe horrify her, maybe crush her composure and drive her back to him. He must have known if he attacked her directly, CDS datahounds would have sniffed him out in minutes. So he gloved up and sledgehammered a stranger, near her but not so close she might recognize him in the act.

After the murder, Cupul must have stripped off the bloody boots and retreated to the paint closet Mery had showed him before. There he changed his clothes. Outside, he took off his mask and probably congratulated himself on the perfect crime.

Then he had lunch.

Eše'hemeo'o didn’t like to believe people were capable of that, of causing such harm then returning to normal lives. But he had served in a decade of grief, and those most responsible had never accepted responsibility, not willingly.

The last of the daylight leaked red between the cemetery trees. In that twilight, he slipped back into a sunset memory.

The ocean glistened crimson. He rode on an armada of rescue boats, to an island struck by a hurricane. He stood on the prow, waiting to see land. He knew what he would find there. Even then, he had feared. Now he didn’t want to relive it again. Once had been too much. He had to escape this ship, this past.

“Ancestors, help me!”

His grandfather appeared, walking on water. His moccasins gleamed, and each bead on his leather jacket was a different-colored star. He lifted his hand.

Eše'hemeo'o took it, and with him, drifted through moonlight back to Ghost Forest. Together they walked under the boughs and through the shadows, from the mother’s palo jiote tree, with its flakey bark, and back to the cemetery entrance.

“Neaese, grandfather. I see there is nothing to fear here.”

The spirit guide left him smiling.

“What are you doing out in the dark, Sun Road?” The raspy voice belonged to Nakamura. His flashlight blinded Eše'hemeo'o, while barks of greeting came from his hounds.

“Didn’t think I would need a light.”

They had finally arrived. The cemetery gates arched just high enough for Vittoria not to have to duck. She was pointing to a sign. “...and make sure you opt out of ghosts.”

Hundreds followed her in. They filled the street with lights, some personal devices, many LED candles, and several potted plants that bioluminesced. At the front, Vittoria’s staff dyed the tree trunks purple and their leaves black.

Her hair reflected violet. “Take us to the grave, via the broadest footpath.”

“This way.” Eše'hemeo'o found himself leading who-knew-how many.

“Shittin’ Jesus!” Nakamura pointed to a cashew tree. “Did you see that?”

“No,” Eše'hemeo'o said. “Did you turn off the spirits in your settings?”

“Thought I did.” Nakamura guided his dogs to the tree. They snuffled around then padded back to his side. He took off his digital glasses and squinted at them with distrust. “Must’ve been a ghost. Something was leaning out with eyes blazing like a hellhound.”

“There’s a bench,” Eše'hemeo'o said. “Better fix it now before you go any deeper.”

“I’ll just keep the glasses off.”

<<Dadtective30: Not to alarm you, but Cupul is on the move.

<<SunRoad: You mean his mob?

<<Benoit03Blanc: He’s with them now, but you are well ahead.

<<SunRoad: Taking down this tree will take time. It’s over five meters tall.

<<Benoit03Blanc: We thought it was only a decade old.

<<SunRoad: Fast grower.

The tree loomed over them, branches twisting, bark skin peeling. It was twice as tall as Vittoria.

The crowd circled around, muttering. “Was hoping she could pull it out by the roots.” And, “How’re we getting under that?”

“Where are our tools?” Eše'hemeo'o asked.

“They’re here.” Vittoria gestured with her staff.

People made way for a truck. Its electric motor hummed; its tires rolled. The passenger jumped out, Librarian Mery. Braids bouncing, she waved to Eše'hemeo'o then directed the vehicle to park.

Seeing her filled him with warmth.

Cupul had gone to a place she loved and filled it with blood. He may have wanted to ruin the tool library for her, take a comfort and turn it inside out, change her happiness into pain and make her vulnerable to him. In the end, Mery proved herself too strong. She still enjoyed helping people at the tool library.

The trauma intended for Mery had instead fallen hard on Librarian Larsen. The big man himself was driving the truck. He rolled down a window and backed up to point its headlights at the tree. For the first time, Larsen looked hearty. Good to see him recovering. He opened the vehicle’s trunk and started handing out ladders and saws.

“Be careful, they’re sharp,” he said.

Mery gave each volunteer a construction helmet and goggles. “Don’t forget your safety.”

Larsen hopped to the top of the truck and switched on a search light. The tree lit up like day. “Let’s go!”

The majority stood back and watched, while the most experienced climbed the ladders and began to cut.

“Top branches first,” Larsen said.

“Moving the wood over here,” Mery said. “Not wasting a thing.”

While the librarians and Vittoria oversaw the work, Eše'hemeo'o turned to his neighbor, an elder with a handle of Doctor. “What brought you here tonight?”

“Feel like I failed her. I ordered multiple tox screenings, but in hindsight, I fear her son substituted his own urine. It’s the only explanation.”

A woman beside him patted the doctor’s hand. “We all were fooled, too in love with romanticizing a widow’s grief.”

The crowd joined in song. Working ditties and climate-action goldies. The people held hands and formed rings around the tree, the circles large and far enough to avoid falling branches. Eše'hemeo'o felt lifted by the melodies. Seeing so many united reminded him of his best days in the Climate Force.

“Next step.” Larsen pulled shovels from the back of the truck, then pickaxes. Men and women lined up to take them. Hatchets and trowels followed. “With me, dig around the trunk. When you hit a root, cut it.”

Dirt flew. Wood split. Larsen wrapped a chain around the tree’s lowest branches. He attached it, from trunk to truck.

<<Dadtective30: Reinforcements are on their way.

<<SunRoad: Why? We have plenty of people here already.

Eše'hemeo'o couldn’t see the cemetery entrance through the forest. If the mob was coming, he might not know until they were upon them.

<<Benoit03Blanc: Getting the tissue sample is the key. Once it is safely away, there will be no reason for Cupul to escalate.

Now Eše'hemeo'o was worried. The last thing he wanted to depend on was the sound reasoning of someone who kept spiders for pets.

Tires squealed. Larsen tried to back up the truck, but the tree didn’t budge. “Keep digging.”

Eše'hemeo'o glanced around. The people visible were from the vigil. But the woods kept him from seeing far. He jogged toward Larsen and slapped his driver door. “We need to move.”

Vittoria gripped the chain and began to lean. “Try the engine.”

The links went taut. Tires fumed. The top of the tree began to bend.

Mery lifted her hands to her mouth. “Diggers, get out.”

People scrambled back with their tools. One woman dropped her shovel.

With a snapping and cracking of roots, with a cascading of soil, the tree tipped horizontal. Some in the crowd cheered. The rest bowed their heads in respect. Eše'hemeo'o ran forward.

In the pit, he spotted fragments of the urn the mother had been buried in. He gloved up and unzipped his test kit. “I need dirt cleared from these roots. Right there, in the center.”

A dozen volunteers with trowels stepped in. He popped open a collection vial. Flesh would have long since decayed, the burial urn cracked by growing roots, but they could still analyze what remained for abnormal concentrations. He filled two samples with dirt.

“Yuck!” A volunteer backed up. “Is that bone?”

Eše'hemeo'o faced the east, mouthed a prayer, then picked up what looked to be a femur. Yellow and soiled, in it went to an evidence bag. “The last sample I need is a core from the tree, where it grew over the burial urn. Larsen!”

The librarian stepped in with a trepanation tool. The wicked-looking thing bored into the roots. At that spot, bits of pot and bones were embedded in the growth. A rib dangled from root hairs. Spirals of wood came out as Larsen’s arms pumped, followed by a chunk.

“Great!” Eše'hemeo'o grabbed it, dropped it, picked it back up, and plugged the core in a vial. He clipped it beside the others, closed the kit, and engaged the authenticity lock.

<<Benoit03Blanc: Now we only need to deposit it at a secure lab, and our night’s work is done.

How were they supposed to do that? If Cupul’s people closed in and captured the bag, they could steal it, break it open, contaminate it.

Red lights flitted into view from between the trees. Angry voices grew louder from the footpath. The mob had arrived. And a whirring sound alerted him of a motor coming at speed.

five days, eight hours, thirteen minutes

Omari bounced Baby on his knee, while looking at vid feeds from his observation drones. Men and a few women were gathering with glow sticks outside Cupul’s apartment. They began to chant, “Let him out! Let him out!”

“What are they doing? Huh?” Omari asked Baby. “Yes, they are poopy pants. Yes they are.”

Baby made angry arm motions. A pungent smell rose from her diaper.

“Wait, they’re not the only ones with too much poop. Here.” Omari cleared off a spot on his computer table, glancing back at the monitors. Cupul’s neighbors were peering out their windows at the shouting crowd. From the rooftop, a sloth was slinking down a clothesline to get away from all the noise. “Look, a sloth. Look!”

Instead of looking, Baby screamed.

“No, you’re alright. There! There!” Omari set out a new diaper and got out the wipes.

<<Benoit03Blanc: How many agitators are there? We need a count.

“Uh oh! Uh oh! Hold on.” Omari cleaned off his hands and rattled off some commands. Green hexes appeared over the clustered figures, with their waving lights. As numbers ticked up, so did Omari’s blood pressure.

<<Dadtective30: Around fifty.

<<Benoit03Blanc: Very good. The bb’s will lead Cupul outside his apartment and tell him to command the crowd to disperse.

<<Dadtective30: You think that will work?

<<Benoit03Blanc: Absolutely not, but it will keep any imminent chaos out of the building.

<<Dadtective30: The neighbors do look trauma….

Omari heard a dripping sound and stopped typing.

Pee cascaded from Baby. It dribbled into a keyboard and off the desk onto a basket of clean laundry.

“Shit!” Omari flailed with a wipe. “Shit! Shit! Oh, sorry, Baby. It’s only pee, anyway. No, don’t cry.”

By the time the chaos on his end was sorted, Omari looked up to find the instigators gone, the street cleared. Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no! He scrolled his displays and sent a message to Taino.

<<Dadtective30: Where’s Cupul? Where’s everyone?

<<GumshoeTaino: He’s in violation of house arrest, with his crew, and I’m with them.

<<Dadtective30: But where? What street.

<<GumshoeTaino: Thunberg Way. Heading en masse toward the cemetery.

Omari smacked the side of his head. He flew his drones over a few streets.

“There they are!” He typed out a quick warning in the CDS chat. A third message box opened, and Omari startled in his seat.

<<Benoit03Blanc: We’re mobilizing all the bb’s from the neighboring communities. Also, we will need de-escalators and a fast extraction plan for the samples. Do you have connections with any rapid-response teams?

<<Dadtective30: Yes, I think there’s a pair listed in the case resources.

<Found it, calling them.

Between rings, Omari cleaned off Baby’s bottom. Now he just had to secure the diaper.

A woman’s voice sang over the line. “What’s your emergency?”

“So many! Is this Hua? Sima Hua?”

“I’m Zephyrine. Her partner.”

“Sending you my CDS verification. This is an official request….” Last safety pin in, Baby fresh and clean, Omari cradled his lil’ gator with as much care as a wide receiver with a ball. “We need you in Everlife Forest. A murder suspect is sending agitators toward our sanctioned vigil.”

Baby farted with a long fizzing sound, which Omari hoped against hope the mic wouldn’t catch.

“We’re on our way,” Zephyrine said. Motorcycle tires sounded in Omari’s headphones.

He wiped off his hands and grabbed the computer controls. “Coordinates of our team coming to you, and I’ll post you with location updates of the agitators.”

That done, he rested back in his ergonomic chair. He started to rock, Baby in hand. When she drifted to sleep, he pumped a fist.

He was a champion.

five days, nine hours, twenty-one minutes

Medic Hua accelerated around a corner. She and her partner leaned together, their red and yellow leather leggings close to the speeding asphalt’s black. Whipping upright, Hua glanced at the map overlay in her helmet. Best routes traced in scintillating green all the way to a plot in the Everlife Forest.

“I’m dropping you off, Zeph? And picking something up?”

“Evidence against the sledgehammer killer.”

“Fuck, yes!” Hua pushed the throttle.

“Then you’re driving it to a lab. Coordinates sent.”

Past a bicycle church, by a water park now dark, below a train rail, they went faster and faster. Neon signs blurred. Hua swerved around a coatimundi, the animal’s striped brown tail puffed in surprise.

This close to midnight, the streets had cleared. The lights of their silent alarm flashed gold and red ahead. Hua activated a proximity alert, selective to devices of people still awake.

The team swung beside the Library’s Main Branch. With an open boulevard and a straightaway, Hua had the perfect opportunity to test her speed. Zephyrine sat silent behind her, no doubt thinking over what she would say. The motor hummed, purred, then thrummed. Its vibrations resonated within Hua. Her speedometer climbed higher. Yes, yes, yes! She achieved it, a new record.

With her speed, Hua turned liquid.

Her senses rippled outward. Time slowed into something she could savor. Gold and red tinted the side of the step pyramid. Their reflection glistened in art-gallery windows, a streak of headlights through the night.

With a squeeze of the brakes, she zipped in front of the Cathedral. Dancers waved from the kinestage. They never stopped until blackout, charging up batteries with their feet. She wove between some onlookers, no problem, then jumped the steps down. Wheels kissing the street, Hua headed for the cemetery gate.

Wait! It opened onto black. These woods had no lights. She had been here before, during the day, but that’s right. At this hour it was the Ghost Forest. She eyed her watch, but no way would she let go of the handles to change her settings.

“They say to look out.” Zephyrine pressed her side. “For agitators in the way.”

The road narrowed, below the branches. Red lights flickered ahead. Were people carrying torches? She thumbed on her siren.

Men leapt out of her way. Their faces contorted then disappeared into blackness as her lights passed. She skidded around a palm tree. A robed figure leapt down, slicing at her motorcycle with a lightsaber.

She zigzagged around. “Shit! Was that a jedi cosplay?”

“Couldn’t say,” Zephyrine said. “I turned off the ghosts.”

Ahead crowded vigil lights. Her map told her she had reached the spot. People cleared a path, and she rolled through. She passed a truck and a toppled tree. Zephyrine leaped free.

A detective approached Hua, with dirt on his pants but shining with a rescuer aura. He carried a satchel with the CDS crest. “We’re going to the Solfall lab.” He tried to swing a leg onto the bike, failed.

“Hold on, how often do you ride?”

“This will be the first time.”

“Wrong.” She grabbed the satchel and pushed him off. Looping the evidence bag’s strap over her helmet, she rushed down the path.

Zephyrine gave her a high-five as she passed.

Ahead, men were forming in a blockade. Didn’t look like they meant to step aside. She turned off her alarms and lights. Braking, she cornered around some sort of fruit tree. Bulbous things weighed down its boughs. A specter reached from the ground to grab at her wheels.

She wove through Ghost Forest. Men leapt at her, swinging glow batons. She sprayed them with dirt as she moved on. A clown rushed her with a knife. She skidded past, bouncing over roots. A pop made her clench. Had a tire burst? But she kept rolling. A chupacabra bit at her heels. A witch dive bombed on a broom, too fast for Hua to dodge.

The apparition flew through her. Hua shivered.

The map in her visor reconfigured. The path she wanted was dead ahead. A bat swooped down and transformed into Dracula. He fixed her with hypnotic eyes.

She drove straight through him.

From the last tree came an executioner axe carried by a headless man.

She cut around the apparition. “Didn’t I leave you in the tool library?”

Her wheels gained traction on a road. She sped forward. There were the cemetery gates.

Blocked, with ten men standing with linked arms.

Hua braked to a stop. She looked down at her watch, seeing a pending comms invite from the CDS. Patching in, she said, “I’ll need another way out.”

“No you won’t,” came a male voice man in a hush.

She heard grunts and thumps. The men were all pinned, face-down beneath the gates. They were being held by people in white karate uniforms and black belts. More martial artists jogged into view, waving her on. Hua rolled between them then hit the accelerator.

The city stretched open before her. Then it went dark.

“Shit! Blackout.”

“Can you ride after midnight?” Again he spoke in a low voice.

“Bet your scaredy butt I can.” She turned on the high beams. “Why are you whispering?”

“Because Baby is sleeping on my lap.”

“Hmm?” She avoided the Cathedral plaza, with its tired dancers. A few algae lamps glimmered green, but mainly her world narrowed to her lights’ wedge of brilliance.

“We’re rerouting you and the evidence to the lab on Alexandria Way. The other one has some thugs waiting outside.”

“That one’s further. Good.” Hua coasted along on her adrenaline. Through stillness, through blackness, through silence, she alone moved.

On one boulevard, a row of bioluminescent trees shone dimly. Each leaf was like a flame of green, with candelabra canopies.

Her face began to hurt, from all her smiling. When she didn’t think the evening could get better, stars descended. Flickerings, barely seen, then clustering brighter and closer, the fireflies swarmed.

She rolled on, adjusting the satchel strap with one hand. Constellations of insects passed to either side. One blink at a time, the street became a galaxy.

“Weeeeeee!”

Cruising down Alexandria Way, she looked for the lab’s main door. The structure resembled a palace with tulip towers, fireflies all around. At last she spotted the entrance. It lit a man’s silhouette.

“There’s someone here. I can’t see a public name.”

“That’s not a friend.” The detective in her ear whispered.

“OMG! He has a hammer.”

“Turn around. Wait until I can find a black belt.”

“No way. I’ve always wanted to do this.” She opened the compartment with her med kit. Eyeing the shadowy man, Hua filled up two syringes.

“Did you stop? You can’t do this. He has a hammer?”

“Not a sledgehammer, and I have a helmet.” She dropped from the bike and tested her legs.

“Do you know martial arts?”

“I know that I suck at ‘em.” She angled her headlights at the doorway and charged in.

The man blinked into her high beam. “You can’t come in here. Give me that—ouch!”

Hua stuck him in the neck with her needle and injected.

When he began to sink into an opioid haze, she grabbed his shoulders to let him down easy. She scanned his biometrics and loaded his medical profile. “Hmmm. Not the murder suspect.”

“No, Cupul is probably way back in the forest.”

“And no contraindications for opioids.” She checked his pulse then jumped to her feet.

The lab door unlocked then shut behind her with a click. She did a skip, couldn’t help it.

“I’m in.”

“Great! We won! You’re safe, and labheads will be there soon to process the evidence.”

She half somersaulted, rocked back, and lay on the tile floor. Her whole body buzzed. “Okay, okay, but can you tell me how Zephyrine is doing?”

five days, nine hours, thirty-five minutes

Taino crept into Ghost Forest, undercover, with Cupul’s crew. When he took one path, Taino started down another saying, “This way. It’s a shortcut.”

They managed to split off a dozen or so, but most followed Cupul. A man beside Taino peered into the wooded blackness; his LED torch turning his grimace red. “Fuckin’ CDS! If they’ll dig up graves, sure as shit they’ll put you in one!”

A few muttered agreement. Taino touched the metal weight beneath their library-loaned jacket.

A siren blasted. Flashing lights rushed them from behind, and Taino threw themself off the path. They looked up in time to see a rapid-response motorcycle race by.

“The fuck? I’m reporting that.” A man scrambled to his feet and began typing.

Taino wasn’t so quick rising. Their heart beat fast enough that they might soon need to call back that medic. With all their clammy sweat they should have just worn a wetsuit. On top of everything, they were worrying why the motorcycle had come this way. They took another look at a digital map, and yup, they had picked a real shortcut by accident. Taino had assumed Cupul knew the fastest way to his mother’s grave even in the dark. Oops!

Yellow letters from the killer himself flashed over Taino’s retinal. They also received a ping of the grave’s location.

<<DoctorCupul: EVERYONE TO SITE NOW

The others took off through the trees. Taino heaved themself up and jogged around a rich-smelling pine.

A man in a ghost mask jumped out and slashed.

Terror cut Taino to the bone. They screamed, peed, and pawed at their jacket. By the time they had it unzipped, the specter had vanished.

Cold dread melted in the furnace of their embarrassment. Ghost Forest, of course. They had been so caught up in their subterfuge they had forgotten. Taino changed their settings, considered doing the same for their underwear, but they didn’t have time.

<<DoctorCupul: LEAVE SITE. STOP BIKE

Others in the chat replied with confusion. Taino sent a private message to Omari.

<<GumshoeTaino: He’s redirecting to block motorcycle.

<<Dadtective30: Thanks! Will make sure she gets out safe.

Taino hustled through the woods, caught up with the torches of Cupul’s crew, and saw they were outnumbered by the vigil’s lights. What a relief. The men and one woman beside Taino milled around, unsure of what to do. The grave tree was already down, and the motorcycle, gone.

The rider in yellow remained. She had taken off her helmet. She sashayed through the truck’s brights, center stage. She pointed to the closest of Cupul’s team and spoke.

“What made you come out so late? Yes, you, Kevin. Why are you here?”

The man’s name flowed over his head in green. Kevin stopped in his tracks. He had looked ready to punch someone, but speak publicly, in front of so many? Not so much.

“Or you.” She singled out another. “Why are you here, so far from your bed? Everyone, listen! Let him speak.”

“Um. To stop that.” He pointed at the capsized tree and the hole where its roots had been.

“Because you care about the sanctity of life and want to see it respected?”

“That’s right.” He seemed spellbound.

“And you.” The woman motioned to someone beside her from the vigil. “Tell us why you came.”

“Because she was our neighbor. We did everything we could to help her, and, and…” The person wiped their eyes and waved to the fallen tree.

“You wanted to learn what happened to her?”

“Yes.”

“Because you care about the sanctity of life and want to see it respected?”

Taino dragged their gaze away from the woman. She held the crowd in the palm of her hand, but a certain psychopath might slip between her fingers. The detective would’ve expected him to interrupt by now with lies and vitriol. They stepped over roots and behind people, searching for Cupul.

There he was! He had left his lab coat behind, was leaving his crew, but he hadn’t changed his public name. He slipped between the trees, typing fast on an interface Taino couldn’t see.

As they closed in, they realized this was it. What would they do? Taino couldn’t let him disappear in the forest. Not that, anything but that. They reached beneath their coat, touched something chilling.

“Cupul, stop! You were mandated to stay home.”

He didn’t even react.

“I’m making a citizen's arrest.”

The killer walked deeper into darkness.

With one hand Taino lifted their LED torch. With the other, they unholstered their Luger. “Stop, or I’ll shoot.”

At that, Cupul turned and got a good look at the gun. He didn’t flinch, only stared back with eyes like leaden slugs, aimed at Taino. “You’re not firing that antique. You don’t know how.”

The detective had practiced, in the wilderness, though never with their hand shaking like the jelly in a marshmallow mousse trifle. They tried to steady the barrel on the flat of their other arm. It helped a little.

“If you shoot, you’ll prove your precious CDS is just as murderous as the police.” Cupul backed away.

“Really?” They dug their fingers into the grip safety. “Because I figure people won’t care if you’re dead, not after we find poisons in dear old mother.”

“So you’ll dig up my parents and bury me in the same night? That’s who you are?” He walked away, out of the torchlight.

“Wait!” Taino’s mind raced. Should they shoot? What would the detectives say? The CDS wouldn’t be pleased about the gun. Might send Taino packing. But how could they let Cupul go? Who knows what he might do? Could kill another, and that was the clincher.

The light swelled in the grove, pushing back the shadows. Brighter, richer, it exposed Cupul.

Taino aimed.

Bang!

Cupul ran away.

Before they could decide if they had hit, Taino was yanked off their feet by a tree.

“Fool,” Vittoria said. She held them up by their belt and gun arm. “What were you hoping to do? Kill him? You have so little imagination.”

“Did I miss?”

“Yes. Now put the gun in safe mode. Spit out the bullets.”

Dizziness spun the world beneath their hanging feet. They feared they would vomit on Vittoria’s dress; then they were as good as dead. Swallowing bile, Taino ejected the magazine and dibbled the bullet out of the chamber. “You don’t know anything about guns, do you?”

“I know what they’re good for.” Vittoria gripped the Luger between two fingers, prying it out of their hand, before setting them down.

Taino crouched to steady themself. Between the trees where Cupul had been, stretched a tunnel of gloom. “Now he’ll get away.”

“No, he won’t.” Her staff’s light turned her eyes into chipped amethysts. She swung it around toward Detective Nakamura.

He shuffled into the grove with his dogs. They sniffed.

five days, ten hours, three minutes

The bloodhounds bayed. The low blast of sound echoed through Ghost Forest. The hunt was on.

They pulled Nakamura forward, a lead in each hand. Taino and Sun Road lit the way with torch and flashlight. Vittoria pushed aside branches to follow.

This was it. Tracking a man on foot, fresh trail, dirt to maintain the smell. Mai would never get another chance like this.

Nakamura knew he might not either. Each yank from Chimon threatened to dislocate the detective’s shoulder. With every bounding step, he was pulled faster and faster, until he stumbled more than walked, dragged more than jogged. His legs felt fit to snap.

“Woah, Chimon. Woah, Mai.”

One hound went left around a tree. The other went right, pulling Nakamura toward bark with spikes. He let go of Mai’s lead in time to save himself.

Sun Road jogged around and found the rope. “Want me to hold onto this?”

“No, no.” Nakamura grabbed it. As soon as he had his eyes forward again he cringed and pulled back. “Chimon, stop!”

Thunk! The hound ran headfirst into a tree trunk.

“What happened?” Taino asked.

“When their noses are down, skin can cover their eyes. Chimon, you big drooler, figures you would be the one to smack yourself.”

Sun Road squatted in front of the bloodhound. “Is he all right?”

“Probably a concussion. Watch him, will you? Chimon, stay. Yes, stay.”

Nakamura knew the dog was hurt when he obeyed straight away. It took a lot to dissuade a bloodhound from a manhunt.

Mai kept on, snuffling the ground. Her tail whipped back and forth just like a pup’s. The old dear loved this scent. She hadn’t had such an exciting time in years.

Between gasps, Taino said, “That’s the end. Of the forest.”

Mai sniffed around a tree beside the cemetery wall. After the circuit she pawed her front limbs up the trunk.

“He climbed,” Nakamura said. “Get some light up there.”

Vittoria stuck her staff between the boughs, and the tree lit purple. “He must have hopped down the other side.”

“Will you help lift Mai over the wall? Careful. She’s brittle.”

Vittoria lifted the thirty-six kilo dog with one hand under her belly. It may have been the most gentle thing Nakamura had ever seen Vittoria do.

Taino gave Nakamura a knee and shoulder to scale the wall. On top of the stone, he patted Mai. “Hold on, girl.”

Her tail whacked him across the face.

Nakamura kissed her side then set himself to jump straight down, to the road’s asphalt. He pictured his knees exploding. He turned around, lowered himself instead. His arms trembled and gave out, but he didn’t have far to fall.

He reached up and touched the blind dog, guiding her down. She set her paws on his chest. He braced himself. She scooted off. Her chrome limb landed with a clang.

Amazing! He had stayed upright.

“Okay, Mai. Find.”

The hound waved her head forward and back. She padded along the base of the wall. Her tail went up and helicoptered.

Mai’s bay sent shivers along Nakamura, head to toes, a thrilling note, a sound wave of joy. She had Cupul’s trail. They had him.

It was blackout. Cupul would be stumbling in the dark. But his scent would be bright to the bloodhound. The hard road diminished it only a little.

Vittoria thumped down behind them. Mai wove forward, slower than before. He checked her when she got close to hitting a lamppost. Her pace was steady, but her breathing sounded too heavy.

A series of barks alerted him of Chimon loping up from the direction of the cemetery gate. Slobber glinted from his jowls in the starlight.

“Wait, you abandoned Sun Road? Chimon, that was rude.”

Taino was also gone, must not have managed the wall. Vittoria at least could hold onto Chimon until a vet checked him out.

Nakamura bent low to pick up his lead. “How are you feeling, drool tub?”

The hounds sniffed each other. Mai pulled forward. Chimon tasted the air, one whiff, and then he was baying.

Ah, well, life was too short not to hunt.

Nakamura kept expecting the hounds to stop at a dark doorway or a window forced open. But the trail went on. So long, that he went lightheaded. A cramp made him fall in a double burst of pain. Vittoria picked him up. What hurt more was seeing Mai begin to fail.

Her gait wobbled. Her panting sounded closer to a gurgle. She listed to the left, and Chimon barked at her with impatience.

“C’mon, old girl. A little further, Maichan. You can get him. He’ll be your last one.” Nakamura’s eyes began to stream. “No train or bus will save him from you this time. The trail’s clear. Just follow it a little further.”

Mai cast Nakamura a sorrowful look. She limped forward, a left paw now dragging.

How much further would Cupul run? “Doesn’t seem like he headed home.”

“No.” Vittoria’s grin was beyond frightening.

Chimon lifted his head and bayed. It reverberated down the streets. Could this be it? They had reached a public baths.

Mai collapsed.

No! Nakamura dropped down beside her. He ran shaking hands over her soft head, down the length of her ears. He rubbed her dewlap, stroked her back.

She sniffed his hand. Her tail wagged once more then stilled.

Nakamura’s tear fell on her coat. The droplet shone.

Chimon licked it up. Her pup nuzzled her, nosed him, bayed, tugged on the lead.

They had to finish the chase. Nakamura swayed to his feet.

He sank down again, running his fingers along Mai’s spine. She had grown so bony. “You did it, Maichan. We’ll find him and count it as yours. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

Once again, he was a hollow man. Even after all his dogs, this felt awful. This time Nakamura was also torn, between staying by Mai’s side and finishing the chase with Chimon. Every moment, Cupul could get further. He could put someone else in danger.

“Go ahead, old girl. Cross the last bridge. Don’t wait for me. I’ll follow soon enough.”

Pushing himself up from his knees, Nakamura realized Vittoria was still there. He hadn’t expected her to have this much patience. She was a monolith of silence.

He hobbled after Chimon. The dog bobbed his head, drinking in a draft of scent. They were close. This was it. Inside the arched entrance of the baths, Chimon pulled him past dim changing rooms. The place seemed deserted; the detective hoped it was. The dog’s claws clattered on tile. They rushed into a moonlit courtyard.

Beside a reflecting pool, between two columns, a pair of figures, one stood upright and another lay fallen. Nakamura saw his worst fear.

They were too late.

five days, ten hours, fifty-eight minutes

Doctor Cupul saw his prey.

He recognized her by her sleek black hair. Juul walked along the length of the reflecting pool. In a bathing suit but not yet decided to dip in. He peered at every shadow to his satisfaction; she was alone.

People had dug up the grave. They would accuse him. This could be his last chance to act. He had to be magnificent.

He slipped his tracker screen back in his pocket. They must’ve found the mites he had stuck on Mery and Vittoria, destroyed the microbots to spite him. Ungrateful sows. But no matter. The tracker on Juul endured.

Who better to pay for insulting him? Juul had attacked, lambasted, and defamed him in the most public way. This howler monkey had ruined his life. She and her ruminant friends had marked him for death because they couldn’t stand his greatness.

Cupul needed to moderate his breaths. He had run all the way from the forest, a lion chased by hounds. Couldn’t let her hear his panting, not too soon. No, he must be fast and silent, with one sharp claw.

He unbelted his utility knife and eased out its blade. Cupul hid it beneath his arm, lest its steel catch a stray moonbeam.

Juul taunted him with her helplessness. Who was she to try to stop him? And what was she doing? Uncertain, too afraid to commit to anything, even swimming. She might as well be a fat duckling, waddling. So like them all.

He took the first step toward her. Yes, they would learn. They had all grown blind and meek in their lives of comfort. Not once had they ever seen him for what he was. Cupul stalked closer.

A hound bayed. They would catch him but not in time. The beastly noise must have come from just outside, amplified in this courtyard.

Juul turned toward the sound. Cupul circled around.

Only, something was wrong. He hesitated.

No, he couldn’t wait. Not with dogs so close with their herd of sheep.

Cupul dashed forward, for her. His movements were swift and sure, his mind focused into something primal. Once more he became mythical.

Past the columns, he lifted his knife. It flashed in his hand, as well as in its reflection. In the water he glimpsed the glint of the woman’s eyes. Her gaze flicked from him to his blade.

She ducked, caught his wrist.

Lucky girl. He would just—

The woman slammed his hand into a column. Crunch! The knife flew into the pool with a splash.

Cupul reached for her, to seize her, strangle her.

His legs whooshed out from under him. He felt himself falling, bit by bit, frozen. How had this happened? This woman had pulled him from his world into someplace alien.

In the water, he saw her gripping the back of his neck, angling his chin toward the tiled floor. Another look at her face, and he knew he had made a mistake.

Crack!

His jaw split into a million points of pain. They ricocheted into his skull, and all dissolved.

six days, twenty-one hours, thirty minutes

“We begin with his crimes,” Vittoria said. “No direct evidence exists that he killed his father. We can only observe the picture Cupul framed of him, similar to the one of his mother, whom he murdered. Poison was concentrated at her burial site and in her bones three orders of magnitude greater than the levels we would expect in nature. Cupul pretended to dote on his mother while dosing her.”

A screen behind Vittoria displayed photos from Cupul’s apartment. It shifted to graphs from the lab reports. Next the scene shifted to a bathhouse at night.

“Here, the CDS set up cameras to catch Cupul in the act. He tracked multiple women using microbots. We transferred one from Juul to black-belt Seraphina al-Najjar. You are seeing the result.”

Nearby on a floating garden, the two women stood side by side. Vittoria appreciated the taunt. They did not look alike, especially since Seraphina had returned a wig matching Juul’s hair to the library. For today’s council the martial artist wore her formal gi, and her son had come with her. Apparently, Seraphina was also a mother. Her toddler played under the island’s willow.

“That murder attempt failed. Another with a similar pattern ended in tragedy. Cupul ambushed Dominik Kang with lethal force.”

Vittoria lifted one hand to the murder weapon on the screen; with her staff, she pointed to Cupul. He stood restrained on the Lakewood Council stage. Bandages held his jaw blissfully shut. Instead of interrupting her constantly, the worst he could do was post live commentary. He typed with fury, the fingers of his knife hand swollen.

“An hour before the murder, a neighbor noticed he wore black sweatpants rather than his typical slacks. He left sweats at the scene of the crime. A witness on the train attests he changed shoes. The killer needed two pairs on hand to avoid leaving a blood trail. Another passerby saw him put on a surgical mask. A boy in the library identified the killer as wearing one. After the murder, the proprietor of Tadeas Tacos saw him carrying a sports bag which could have held a change of clothes and shoes. This food stand was a few steps outside Lakewood Tool Library. Eating there after killing Dominik Kang fits a pattern of inhuman brazenness and a baseless sense of superiority. He was nearly caught minutes after the murder by Detective Nakamura and his bloodhound Mai.”

That one was for you, Nakamura.

Vittoria gazed up at one camera amid the bot swarm. “Another neighbor reported his boots were missing. He wore a similar size to the accused, and we believe Cupul stole them, murdered in them, then changed out of them into his normal shoes. Here we have witness testimony from Librarian Larsen.”

People in boats murmured in recognition. They leaned in from islands; those on Lakewood Wharf pointed.

“I’m only sure about one thing,” the big man said on the big screen. The interview had been conducted in a home built with walls of earth and repurposed bottles. “The killer put on sneakers.”

Every camera, every eye in the crowds turned to focus on Cupul’s footwear. He wore sneakers.

“Before I end my turn,” she said, “you should know multiple advocates offered to speak for Cupul. They each failed to reach an understanding. He may have refused them, believing in his own superiority. Or they declined to give voice to his verifiable lies.”

Vittoria yielded the stage. She turned her back to the screen and Cupul’s presentation. The louse would lie and lie and lie, but at least she wouldn’t have to hear it. His prepared statement scrolled across the screen a sentence at a time, sometimes two at once as he interrupted himself. Attendees could opt in to hear his words read aloud by a computer, if they preferred their falsehoods verbalized.

She was pleased to see sortaries from the Cathedral Community leave; they must have seen enough evidence to fill them with disgust. They stepped into a canoe and departed.

Two from his district remained, but both had voted against him before, when Vittoria had requested his house arrest. One seemed to remember an animal he killed, and the other was a close friend to the mother he murdered. Vittoria could count on their vengeance.

Seven sortaries from Lakewood would also seek justice. Hand in hand they held each other up, some faces grim, others weeping. Three more had come from the community of Seraphina al-Najjar. Cupul’s murder attempt on her had involved them. More could have come, and if Vittoria had chosen to stage the trial in their district, they likely would have. Anyone could opt out of the sortition, and a sortary could walk away from any council. Those here cared. In total, Vittoria commanded the sympathy of thirteen sortaries. Thanks to the hard work of so many, Cupul alone and bloodied.

Vittoria had prepared. She had outsmarted and outplayed. Now she outspoke him, onstage at the center of the world. Media bots clouded the sky. Camera crews crammed in canoes with reporters. Today, her voice crossed the lake and the globe.

“Now for justice.” She ushered the weevil aside with her staff, his equal time run out. “For the Cathedral Community’s failure to prevent violence, the Kang family has asked their lab to design the colors Dominik strove for in life. Any further actions the Community wishes to take in regard to Cupul’s murder of his mother can be discussed and voted on internally at another council.”

Sortaries nodded solemnly. Many watching snapped their fingers in approval.

“The punishment of individuals matters less and is more fraught. Cupul’s case is particularly difficult, as we rarely encounter misdeeds of this sort. Restorative justice is not worth the risk. Counselors might waste years of their lives on him, only for him to kill again. Exile is also irresponsible. We should not thrust our worst offenders on others.”

Veins stood out on Cupul’s brow. He glared at her with bloodshot malice.

She loved it. “Modern society does not imprison humans. Jails were indoor slavery or worse, and prison guards became the worst offenders. Cupul has already violated house arrest. Half measures would be equally insufficient. The option remaining may seem obvious, but first, we should take inspiration from his motivation.”

Vittoria displayed his room full of orb weavers. Then she played a clip of him mentioning the species Photuris versicolor. She kept it short, as the context of his words did not flatter her.

“An obsession with aggressive mimicry,” she said, “drew him to this particular spider. Their golden webs trick bees into thinking its silk is part of a flower. And here, he singles out an insect central to his mindset. Photuris versicolor mimics fireflies of other species, lures them in, then consumes them.”

She leveled her staff’s orb with his head.

“Cupul may look human to you or me, but he lacks our empathy. The words he speaks may sound familiar, but they are deficient of any commitment to truth. He mimics our ways, but his actions indicate psychopathy.”

I warned you, Cupul. You should have taken my deal.

“Psychopaths are predators to people. They believe themselves above us, so by rights we may place them below. He does not consider himself the same as other humans, so we should make it official. Lakewood Council, Sortaries, I ask for a sentence of dehumanization.”

Now they understood. Eyes widened. Some people looked stunned.

A delicious hush layered across the lakes, the gardens, the stage. She relished its timeless sweetness. The breeze had never felt better on her skin. The sun had never shone warmer.

Murmurs rippled over the waters. Live reporters chatted into their cameras. Drones buzzed. Sortaries turned to each other, consulting tablets and whispering. Cupul’s fingers writhed like so many worms as he attempted a written response.

“Dehumanization requires asserting Cupul, as a person, has never been,” she said. “I prefer to call this process abolitio memoriae. Historically, it is known as damnatio memoriae, the damnation of memory. Egyptians did it to a blasphemous Pharaoh. Romans did it to Nero. More recently, we did it to oil and tech CEOs.”

Every word melted on her tongue. She pronounced each with care, lest its moment pass too quickly. This was her time, her finest hour, and Cupul’s worst.

“We will expunge his name from all scientific papers he co-authored. Collaborators attest that he leeched off the work of others. An eradication program will edit him out of all group photos, and those solely of him it will replace with portraits, with captions, of his victims or detectives who caught him. He tried to define other lives. Let him be defined by them. His name in text will become ‘the murderer of Dominik Kang.’ Any website resisting the program will disappear from searches.

“I am now available for questions.”

“Advocate Vittoria, we do not wish to sound skeptical, and Lakewood appreciates the CDS’s efforts, but dehumanization?” A sortary in a pink-orchid dress looked to her fellows, who nodded. “As I understand it, that punishment was reserved for capitalists whose negligence killed thousands, if not millions. Terrible though this case is, it doesn’t seem the same.”

“It does share an important element, psychopathy. You see, psychopaths excelled in hierarchy. They infiltrated the police, politics, and corporate structures. There, their lies and indifference toward human suffering was richly rewarded. What’s worse, those positions of power corrupt, and by degrees people exhibited more and more psychopathic traits. For one, they began to think themselves smarter than humans. We saw that time and again in Cupul’s actions.”

A hummingbird zipped past her on the left. It hovered before the sortaries in a flash of jade, then whisked away.

“You are right in one regard,” Vittoria said. “The capitalists and politicians we dehumanized caused far more harm. They were the most deadly of psychopaths, more criminal than serial killers. What they shared in common was a willingness to exploit people on the margins. Since then, we have embraced our outcasts. We legalized sex work. Housed the homeless. Stopped questioning queers. Took care of our elderly. And destroyed the patriarchy. Doing so denied psychopaths easy targets.”

Vittoria swept across the stage with her purple gown trailing. When ending a man’s life in public, she thought it important to be dressed to kill.

“We reduced crime further by toppling capitalism and creating a post-scarcity society. And yet, evil endured. Darkness is in our nature. Naturally, in some it is worse, at birth. In others, too little care or too much power can draw it forth. We treated the psychopaths we found, helped them learn to live in a community. Others we missed, and we became complacent. Why expect to be harmed by someone who already has everything? We need a reminder of the danger. That is why I ask for the harshest punishment.”

“I may have missed it,” one sortary said, “but what was his motivation? For killing our Dominik.”

“There could never have been a good motivation, but at your request I will share his bad ones. Cupul wished to traumatize someone nearby, who had rejected him. This person has requested anonymity. I will share their identity with you only privately.”

A few of their devices chimed.

“Beyond that, he desired to kill, as a psychopathic display of dominance. To prove himself different, strong to our weak. I hope you will act accordingly. Declare his inhumanity.”

A bare-chested sortary stepped forward. She glinted with implants of fractal circuitry. “Humanity’s greatest atrocities have come from dehumanizing each other.”

“Yeah,” another said, wearing a sun hat and garden-stained coveralls. “Won’t this make us just as bad?”

“By the numbers, our greatest mistake may have been capitalism,” Vittoria said. “You still raise a serious concern. In the past, we have dehumanized people simply out of fear of the unknown, a stranger's face or a complexion. Some did it to scapegoat, to build power at the cost of another. Capitalists did it to divide, while they lived like conquerors. Psychopathy—”

Two media bots crashed into each other. They tumbled into the water. Sortaries sniffed then returned their attention to Vittoria.

“Psychopathy is a known entity, and we are right to fear it. Let dehumanization be not arbitrary but deliberate. Define it. Give it shape. Restrict it to this and nothing else. No truth, no empathy, no respect for human life.

“Humans have always been terrified of the predators who walk among us. Psychopaths carved themselves into our mythos. We called them vampires or yako kitsune, werewolves or maras, faerie princes or changelings, kumiho or kelpie. We didn’t understand how someone who looked like us could feel so little. Hoarders and the biggest gluttons for power even made some imagine dragons.”

The sortary with emblazoned breasts did not look convinced. Vittoria could only afford four no votes.

“You are right to feel uncomfortable with this duty, this difficult decision,” Vittoria said. “That’s what makes you human.”

“Trying to destroy someone’s name won’t work,” the sortary said. “You’re only going to make him more notorious.”

“No, this did.” Vittoria swept her walking stick from the bots overhead to the crowds sprawling on rooftops. “The CDS was against the leaked video for that reason. Your decision today can balance the scales. If you think of a better way, please, do not delay. But consider this. Serial killers, mass murderers, and capitalists all did what they did in part for the notoriety. Justice should behead their fame.”

“That’s another thing.” The woman’s hands were trembling, but Vittoria was impressed the sortary confronted her at all in front of so many. “What happens to him, if we strip his humanity, legally? Is he still protected by animal rights?”

“No.” It took all Vittoria’s willpower not to smile.

“Then it’s also a death sentence.”

“He will have all the rights of a parasite. That’s most appropriate. Psychopathic CEOs proved themselves to be the biggest bloodsuckers of them all. Stealing ideas, claiming them as their own. Parasitizing workers, consumers, and the Earth itself.” Vittoria strode in front of Cupul, lifted her hands in front of his face. “Did you think yourself a predator? No, you’re a bloodfly biting at society.”

Vittoria clapped. He didn’t blink. His eyes locked on hers with uninterrupted hate. A sharp echo returned from the far side of the lake.

“And no one should lose sleep over swatting a fly.”

People stared at her the world over. She wouldn’t have wished for anything less.

“You ask us to set a dangerous precedent,” said the sortary with the bare chest and the complete courage. She wore a skirt of seashells. “To dehumanize a psychopath, when you yourself claim people can be born with this condition.”

“No, I’m asking you to hold accountable a psychopath who mutilated pets, killed at least one of his parents, murdered Dominik Kang, and attempted to kill again. Had he been satisfied studying spiders and pretending to be a doctor, no one need be here today.”

“I think I understand now,” the sortary said. “No one can less forgive than the tempted who did not give in.”

Ah, you know me too well.

Vittoria grinned. “How charming. Is that a quote from something?”

The sortary shook her head. No others spoke up.

The stage returned to Cupul. He filled the screen with words with as much truth as mucus trails left by snails.

Later, the sortaries spoke amongst themselves. After their deliberations were done, Vittoria returned with the throngs. She accepted that the vote could fail. She might have to present a lesser sentence. But she was not one to sell her desires short. She had given this her utmost.

And it was no more than Cupul deserved.

The community clerk said, “We will now call the roll. Nine votes to pass.”

Vittoria filled her chest, held her breath.

“Aye.”

“No.”

That had been from the courageous sortary. Expected, but a pity her vote had come so early. It was a bad start.

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Abstain.”

Fuck you, coward!

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“No.”

Uh oh. She needed two more yes votes for the sentence to pass. The abstention changed the math.

“No.”

Fuck! Her lungs stung with withheld air.

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

Yes! She had won, in front of everyone. She felt as if her soul grew to fill the whole horizon. She exhaled doubt and topped off with triumph.

“Aye,” said the last sortary, unnecessarily.

Vittoria’s staff flashed, the eradication program unleashed.

The creature in front of her with the broken jaw tested its restraints. Perhaps it feared she would crack its head open right now. But no, she would not traumatize so many with its foul blood. Especially since she had something so much better in mind.

Detective Taino removed the creature’s personal devices, the digital glasses, smart rings, and earpieces. It struggled so, even now. Like a spider wasp in a bell jar. A black belt pinned it, while a medic injected a sedative.

Vittoria dragged it onto a barge full of detectives. Juul hopped in. Seraphina had long since left with her tired toddler, but she and all the others would’ve heard the news by now. Vittoria had won.

“That was more intense than I was expecting,” Juul said. This time she didn’t offer a hug.

“I may never have another chance to advocate for such high stakes. I had to make it memorable enough to last a lifetime.”

“Did you, though?”

Vittoria’s smile regretted nothing.

seven days, forty-seven minutes

Omari and his husband sat in stunned silence in front of the news. They watched Vittoria pulling the convict onto the barge, while the sortaries boarded boats of their own. Omari clicked mute. The only sounds in their apartment came from Baby worrying his right nipple, gurgling her dissatisfaction with the local service. Omari switched her to the other side and eyed his partner.

Abran was massaging his knees, a habit of his before saying something uncomfortable. “So, you’re going to take him to the wilds to kill him or something?”

“Are you asking if I’m CDS’s local executioner?”

“No, I guess I’m surprised and a bit disturbed,” Abran said. It hurt seeing the sundrop upset. “Did you know she would ask for dehumanization?”

“When it comes to council stuff, Vittoria is the coach.”

“Maybe you should rethink that.”

“But in this case,” Omari said, “a CDS sortition would’ve signed off on her decision.”

“Huh-uh.” It contained multiple syllables of disappointment and suspicion.

Omari bet Vittoria had made a deal with the assigned commissioners. Likely something to do with the trap she had set in the bathhouse, which had worked. He turned to Abran. “Well, what would you have done?”

“About the murderer? Not that. Maybe paralyzed him, so he can still live but not bop anyone else.”

“You think it’s ethical to intentionally disable another human?”

“Maybe not.” His partner’s brow wrinkled in that adorable way. “How about you? What’s your sentence?”

“A more glorified death. How about him in the center of the coliseum, battling killer robots?”

“That sounds so much worse.”

“No robots then. What about human gladiators? Ok, ok, I don’t have an answer.”

His husband stood up and turned his back. “I’m going to take a nap.”

Omari lifted his lil’ gator. “What would you have done? I know, I know. Executed him with sleep deprivation. You’re too cruel.”

She started fussing. He patted her back to burp her.

Even after his husband got up, they didn’t talk, didn’t say anything in fact, until they heard a loud knock. The whole door shook.

“I’ll get it,” his partner said, frowning. He gripped the knob and pulled. “Wow!”

Vittoria’s voice filled the apartment. “Is Detective Omari in?”

“Yes.” Omari answered before he realized what he was wearing: mismatched socks, a stained nursing top, and boxer shorts. He hadn’t known you could self-immolate with embarrassment. Maybe Vittoria was the sort who would ignore him and only see Baby. That was a possibility.

Vittoria leaned with one arm against the top of the doorframe. Her face and elaborate headdress filled the entire width. Her gaze flicked over Omari and Baby. Her expression never changed from a trace grin.

Omari glanced into the hall, but, no, she wasn’t dragging the killer behind her. “Um, you came straight here?”

“Thanking you was my priority, Omari. Without your data for the animal deaths, we would still likely lack a suspect.”

Was this really happening? Omari turned to his husband. Was he seeing this? His sundrop’s mouth was wide with surprise.

“As a token of my appreciation, I brought a gift.” She reached deep into her brassiere. “It comes with a condition.”

Omari had no idea what she was pulling out. Tickets to finish-line seats for a cycling race? An introduction to a doctor for gene modification? Another baby?

“You must redeem it immediately for a party.” She held out her hand flat.

In her palm was a gun.

eight days, two hours, twenty-three minutes

Eše'hemeo'o’s paint roller left a path of sunshine yellow. It felt good coloring the wall. With one stroke he could see an instant result, a change for the better.

“Dominik Kang designed these hues.” To his left, Detective Asali Dhillan chattered. “We pulled all his paint cans out of storage.”

The detectives were helping the Lakewood community manifest a mural. It would depict Dominik painting himself into existence, as bright as could be. Eše'hemeo'o reached up to roll more yellow overhead.

Librarian Larsen patted his shoulder. “You can smooth those drips with another pass.”

The big man had peddled up with an electric trike and a cart full of paint supplies. Experienced artists were stenciling out the design, while Eše'hemeo'o and others filled in the lines. The sun was warm on his back, and this coat would dry fast.

To his right, Mery tsked. “Look at the mess I’ve made already. Good thing I brought these aprons.”

Pink splatter stood out on her jet feet. She and he had taken off their shoes. Eše'hemeo'o dipped a toe in some paint and drew an arch on the drop cloth. It felt cool and slick on his skin.

“Ha!” Mery nudged him, and tingles rippled out from her touch. The jewel scarab he had given her gleamed at her collar. “Maybe you should become a painter.”

“It is relaxing.” In fact, the day felt pretty well perfect. “But do I remember right? Dominik didn’t even need a drop cloth?”

“Yes, a true pro,” said a painter.

After they finished a few coats, they sat back and watched as those with skills went to work. The Kang family served bitter melon in sauce, grass jelly, and ginger tea. When his mother lifted her hands, the chatter sombered.

A priest said a few words, ending with, “May he rest in peace.” A rabbi went next. “May his memory be a blessing.” Then came a Buddhist monk. “May he come to eternal rest from samsara.”

The victim’s sister spoke, saying among other things she had been so proud of Dominik for overcoming his stutter. The father cried and smiled at the same time. His voice was hoarse.

“‘Dom, take care on the ladder.’ That’s what I told him more than anything. But he would run up the rungs, lean like a monkey gripping the eaves. I said you’re going to fall and crack your skull, Dom. You…”

The father shook his head. A priest in a feather headdress stood behind him for support and helped him back to his seat when he finished.

Eše'hemeo'o’s turn came. While he strode to the front of the gathering, an artist on a ladder painted a turquoise sweep. “I am a crime-scene investigator with the CDS. Dominik’s death was swift. He never saw the murderer approach from behind. His last thoughts may well have been on his next project.”

“What of the killer?” This came from the sister. “Will he suffer?”

Eše'hemeo'o had heard that detectives had loaned a car and driven the murderer away in the trunk. Beyond that, he wouldn’t guess. “The CDS will ensure he will never harm another.”

After returning to his seat, Mery squeezed his hand. Holding on, he imagined Dominik’s spirit high in a tree. Pastel ribbons fluttered around him in a breeze carrying him away to infinity. As the dead man flew overhead, Eše'hemeo'o said, “We have told your story. We will keep telling it. We won’t forget.” The wind coursed through Eše'hemeo'o, chill and lively, blowing away his regrets, his past hurts.

Eše'hemeo'o opened his eyes, proud with tears. He smiled at Mery, with her.

Someone shouted. “Look, a quetzal!”

A bird alighted on a ladder. Its feathers shone with green iridescence. It whistled, chattered, and then took wing. Two tail feathers flapped behind it, long as the rest of the bird. They fluttered and shimmered from sapphire to emerald. Mrs. Kang watched the quetzal go and began to weep.

Eše'hemeo'o’s implant chirped with an alert he didn’t recognize. He tapped into his messages. “Mery, I am invited as a prestigious guest to a melter. Would you care to come?”

“Yes. Oh, what fun! Haven’t been to one a year, maybe two. Who’s it for?”

“Detective Omari.”

eight days, eighteen hours, thirty-seven minutes

“Chibi, sit,” Nakamura said.

The piglet sat on his haunches. He huffed.

Nakamura tossed him a popcorn then backed up a few steps. “Chibi, come.”

The animal waddled to the detective and got another treat.

“Now, the most important.” Nakamura let the pig sniff a grape then handed the sweet fruit to Juul. Grinning, she walked around a planter and crouched out of sight. “Chibi, find.”

The piglet scurried after Juul. He overshot the pot full of zapotón flowers but grunted his way back to her. His wrinkled nose snuffled at her hand with the grape.

She gave it to him then rubbed his sides. “He’s so furry! Oh, how cute.”

Chibi had grey spots on his forehead and was generally off-white. His stub tail stuck out and flapped.

Juuls laughed, pig in her arms. “I never thought you would do this.”

“Smartest animal I’ve ever trained.”

“I feel like you tricked me.”

“Well now, I’ve always wondered about tracking with pigs. They’re supposed to have a nose twice as sensitive as a bloodhound’s, but, you know, it could never have happened when I was on the force. We would’ve rather been caught dead than with a pig.”

“Why’s that?”

He gazed at the young woman with the younger animal. Years and decades spanned between her and him. Felt like they hardly lived in the same world. “No reason. It’s not important.”

She handed him the piglet. “So, when are we meeting tomorrow?”

“Let’s do eleven. Check out some sturdy pants.”

“Do you think the library has slobber-proof jeans?”

The next day, Juul fell on her knees. Chimon dragged her by the lead, through the park, her legs kicking.

“Stop,” Nakamura said, “Chimon! Stop!”

Juul hopped up, smacking dirt off her thighs. “Not sure I’m cut out for this. He’s fast and big, and I’m the opposite.”

“Don’t expect yourself to keep up with a bloodhound. Just jump, one leg at a time. Let him pull you forward.”

“Fly me like a kite?”

“Yup. Let him do most of the work. Chimon, find.”

Off they went. Over footpaths. Around ponds. The dog towed Juul, while Nakamura offered encouragement. She fell a few more times. But it could’ve gone worse. The dog didn’t sling her into any spiky trees.

“Now what?” Juul gripped a rope that had gone slack. The bloodhound snuffed around some flower beds. He had lost the scent.

“Cast him in different directions, like you’re fishing.”

“Great. Another thing I’ve never done.”

“Really? I see people fishing all the time in Lakewood.”

“Too busy to try everything,” Juul said.

But she figured it out. Chimon found the trail again, and they were off.

Between bouncing steps, she asked, “So, going to Omari’s melter?”

“Me? No. When I was younger, people complained parties were too loud. Now they’re too quiet.”

“Have to turn up your personal audio. You control the volume.”

“You can have my invite, if you need it for a friend.”

“I don’t.” Juul followed the hound over a footbridge. “Invited someone already but looks like I’ll be going alone.”

“Now that’s a shame,” he said. “You can always meet someone there.”

“But the right someone? That’s the problem. Oh, Chimon, did we find it?”

The hound leaped over a hillock, past a few solar panels, and bayed. He pawed at a door in the ground. It made Nakamura think of a hobbit home. Some people preferred to live a little apart, in the park.

The door opened. Inside sat Therapist Fernando, along with the owner of the hole house. The floor was polished wood, and they were drinking from steaming cups.

“There isn’t enough room for you to join us,” Fernando said, “especially with the dog. I’ll come out.”

“Thank you for letting us track you again, old friend.”

“Certainly. Well done, Chimon. Now for your reward.” Fernando knelt to give the bloodhound all the pets he could want. Juul hugged the dog, and Nakamura handed over his well-deserved treats.

Once the lesson was over, Juul waved goodbye.

Fernando nodded to her as she left along a garden path. “Do you think she’ll keep at it?”

“Probably not,” Nakamura said. “Some of the other detectives have shown more interest. Really made a difference when Vittoria mentioned Mai on the big stage.”

The therapist clasped him on the shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“It’s all the usual things.” An intensity throbbed in Nakamura’s chest. The strength of the emotion made him smile. “In a way, it’s a relief. Feels just like when I was young.”

“That’s the spirit. Now, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t wish, but what made you decide to let Mai pass? Sounds like you could’ve secured her a chrome body.”

Nakamura shook his head. “She could never give consent. And I was too biased to make the decision for her.”

“She lived a good life.”

“The best.”

The two men watched as Chimon chased a squirrel that he had no hope of catching. Nakamura did an inventory and found himself full up on feelings, living in paradise, and among friends two-legged and four. He couldn’t have asked for more.

“I hear you’re a hog man now,” Fernando said.

“These days a pig is more my speed. You could argue it always was.”

“Ha! Love how you’re trying new things. You’re a young man yet.”

nine days, six hours, four minutes

Juul cheered when Omari stepped up to the crucible, in the center of the coliseum. People crowded all around. Jumbotrons shone with enlarged portraits of Omari, with his partner and cute baby.

Omari must’ve left his kid with his community tonight. His face glowed orange from the heat of the crucible. He tossed a gun in, and smiths began to melt it down. They wore leather aprons and little else.

Juul screamed and clapped. Others whooped. A chant rose, “Melt! Melt! Melt!”

She wouldn’t have guessed Omari would be the type to hoard a gun for so long. Maybe he was saving his party wish for a special occasion.

He raised fists to the night sky and let out something like a battle cry. Then the music began. Omari did the robot and other dorky dance moves. His partner laughed. Detectives and more prestigious guests joined in, with everyone else who had come to party.

Juul could feel where she had fallen on her legs that morning. But it didn’t slow her down, as she began to shimmy and slide. Her loaned dress shimmered about her waist, with thousands of LED lights. Nearby, Mery and Eše'hemeo'o moved together, often touching, hand to hip, fingers to shoulder, lips to cheek. Every time Juul looked at them, she grinned.

Black belts danced together. They kicked high. They threw each other around, into the air as well as on the floor. They caught their partners, tumbled, and sprang back up to their feet for more.

The rapid-response team looked different out of their motorcycle suits. But, there Hua and Zephyrine were. They kept close while footing it with multiple partners. Zephyrine danced with practiced grace, while Hua headbanged. The thrashing woman might have even synched her own track of punk to the DJ’s beat.

Vittoria did nothing so wild. She swayed, hips rocking side to side. Merely that and her height made her a focus, a lighthouse on the dance floor with her shining staff. Beside her high-stepped a dentist. A plumber joined in, with lucky dragons circling his arms in cyberspace. He must’ve worked at dirty jobs a long time, to earn his enhancements. He also wore a cape made of digital flames. It swirled in neon reds with every step, and smoke rose from his pumping feet. Juul tried to catch the plumber’s eye, but his were only for Vittoria.

The great woman beckoned Juul closer, but she wasn’t feeling it. Instead she danced with her friends from school. Then with everyone she could find from her clubs. They greeted her with smiles and congratulations. It felt like a charmed night. Even Rodriguez had a compliment.

“You did well at the Cathedral. That went beyond heckling. Did you review a recording?”

“No, no,” she said. “And I don’t want to.”

Juul headed for the tables, for a drink. On the way she passed a man in a wheelchair spinning and singing along, while a woman in an exoskeleton stomped her chrome feet in time to the music.

Someone with fluorescent jewelry stepped close. “Love how you spoke against the sledgehammer killer. Can I get you a drink?”

“Thank you, yes. A chocolate and chili.”

The guy selected it online, and by the time she reached the bar, it was ready for her. She chatted with the man and a few others who praised her. Then she returned to the prestigious-guest tables.

She toasted Taino, reaching over a few people crowding with compliments and questions about the case. Taino was answering politely and sipping something golden.

She asked, “Is it good?”

“They always bring their best elixirs to melters.” They gave her a tired smile. Their gaze flicked to Omari dancing.

Chefs competed for the honor of catering these parties. Juul hadn’t been able to attend many, and she planned to sample as much food as she could. That was, once she had her fill of dancing.

Her chocolate was spicy and sweet, rich and warm like a day full of sun. She had almost finished the refreshment when she glimpsed someone coming closer. Her face lit up with heat, and at the same time, her insides went cold.

It was Medusa. They headed straight for Juul’s table.

How embarrassing. They had declined her invitation but had turned up regardless. Juul turned away, considered an escape, but it was too late.

“Detective Juul, I apologize,” Medusa said. “As much as I wanted to accept your plus-one invite, it wouldn’t have been appropriate.”

She swiveled back in her chair to stare at the reporter and their head full of cybernetic snakes. This close, each viper was clearly a crafted masterpiece. “You said you would’ve liked to go out with me?”

“Absolutely. I respect your dedication to speaking the truth and exposing those who try to conceal it.”

What color were Medusa’s eyes behind their digital sunglasses? Juul imagined lifting them up, staring close into pupils a striking serpentine green. Would they transfix her, turn her into stone, lock her heart in rock? Or would they mesmerize her, draw her closer?

“However,” Medusa said, “my viewers depend on me to hold the CDS accountable. I can’t be seen as biased toward its media liaison, no matter how I feel.”

Of course Juul had asked someone on a date who was totally inappropriate. At best, her sense of attraction seemed star-crossed. She was ashamed but not surprised when she heard herself say, “Would you care to sit with me, in an official capacity?”

“I would love to.” A pair of vipers unhinged their jaws, revealing cameras. The table was small, and with so much going on, Medusa had to sit close. “What can you tell me about the fate of the sledgehammer killer? I know detectives took him into the Library’s Main Branch.”

Oh, Juul wished she knew. “The point of the sentence is for the public to forget him, to be able to move on, rather than have to participate in an execution’s violence.”

“Whether or not it was right to reclassify him as a parasite, the people deserve to know the fate of a man-sized mosquito.” With every word, their breath puffed against Juul’s cheek. It smelled of herbs. Rosemary, maybe.

“The CDS has taken full responsibility for his security,” Juul said.

“May I infer that to mean he’s incapable of escape?”

She looked across the dance floor to check the enormity of Vittoria’s smile. “Yes. Now I have a question for you, Medusa.”

“Do you?” They scooted closer, and their knees touched Juul’s. Heat built.

“At the Tuesday press conference, you asked if the killing exposed a flaw in our society. Do you think it did?”

Medusa answered with the speed of a snakebite. “The male who killed Dominik never received treatment for psychopathy. His parents failed to refer him. His community could have done better by him and everyone. We need to stress the importance of early detection. As difficult as it may be, people should know where their child stands.”

Juul felt a prickle on her hands under the table. Medusa had touched her with their nails, sliding them across her skin, between her knuckles, feathering, flickering down to her fingertips.

It was happening out of sight of their cameras. Juul’s heart began to gallop.

She swallowed and tightened her diaphragm to speak without giving anything away. “I am curious how the parents treated their boy and each other. Do you imagine there could be love?”

“They appeared to have been a happy family, or so neighbors thought, before the trial. But so much goes on behind closed doors, which may never be known.” Medusa’s fingers entwined with hers. A fit, their palms met, pressed close.

“Their community must have guessed something was off, during childcare, school, or….” Juul found herself at a loss for words as Medusa teased her pinkie.

“It’s ever so easy to overlook something you’ve no interest in finding.”

What would it feel like for Medusa and their vipers to kiss her, all at once? Juul pictured herself shivering under pecks from so many metal lips. “How did you feel about the trial? It made me uncomfortable.”

Medusa eased up the pressure. “In my reporting I stressed the real outrage was our failure to protect Dominik Kang. The verdict matters little, even as a deterrent. Prevention, not punishment, is paramount. Vittoria spoke of steps taken to diminish violent crime. We must go further.”

“Yes, that’s why I will go into advocacy. That’s what I want.” Juul guided Medusa’s fingertips along the top of her thigh. “Justice, ahhh, I avoid promising that in my CDS speeches. True justice would’ve been preventing Dominik’s death.”

“Is it not a thrill, knowing how far we could go together?”

Juul nodded, perhaps with too much force. Was she embarrassing herself? Or throwing away their secrecy? “One last question.”

“Now who’s the reporter?”

She asked, “Do you dance?”

“Yesss.”

Medusa let go and kept their distance, while holding tight to Juul’s gaze. The cyborg moved with a slithery poise. A belly dance, they flowed in one direction only to unwind the way they came. Their chest popped outward, and their hips undulated. Vipers twined and writhed.

Juul wondered if Medusa had only touched her to get close, seduce her for information. She decided it didn’t matter, after another look. She was snake charmed.

nine days, seven hours, thirty-one minutes

Taino couldn’t help but notice Detective Juul left three minutes after Medusa and by the same coliseum exit. Could message her, but no, better to drown any advice with another drink. Taino began to tap out an order for a gimlet, but Detective Myca beat him to it.

“Care for a cup?” She unscrewed her mushroom thermos.

An hour ago, they had watched Omari melt their luger, and they had spent the time since sitting with their worry over when Vittoria would inform the CDS they had shot at a suspect. So, of course, they said yes to the drugs, please, and thank you.

The shroom tea tasted like a cupful of dirt. Taino sent it down the trap.

“Detective Taino?” A clean-shaven woman approached their table, her head glowing with bioluminescent glyphs. “Is the Citizen Detective Society taking applications?”

“Yes.” They sent her the link. Ninth time they’d done so that night.

“Thanks! And well done catching the sledgehammer killer. What a maniac.”

Taino hoped it had been well done. Most everyone seemed to think so. Why then could they only remember their mistakes? They stewed with their blunders and questioned their every decision. Shouldn’t have brought a gun. Shouldn’t have chased the spring-heeled man. Should’ve turned off the ghosts in the Everlife Forest. Should’ve been faster, smarter, and better.

They sighed. This was the post-case slump they talked with their therapist about. People all around them were happy. Taino could be too. It was a real pill to feel like a worthless phony, when Dominik’s killer had lied every day of his life without a qualm. At least they had caught him before he killed again.

“Testing, one two.” Omari’s voice echoed in the coliseum. “For my party wish, I want to tell you, everyone, some jokes.”

Oh no!

Dancers stilled to look at Omari onstage. “Ahem! Within minutes, the detective knew exactly what the murder weapon was,” he said. “It was a brief case.”

Taino had never before heard an entire coliseum groan. A few people shouted, “No!” and there was one, “Mercy!” A detective said, “Legend!”

“Hey, you can leave anytime,” Omari said, through his huge grin. “The other day, a detective showed up at my house and asked me where I was between five and six. I told him kindergarten.”

The mushroom tea kicked in, and not a moment too soon.

Taino sank into their chair. They could feel its white oak embrace them, hold them. Together they grew, down, through the ground, tickling the Earth with root hairs. Taino giggled at the thought of their arms reaching out as hundreds of branches, each leaf a green fedora.

As mycelium underground connected trees in a forest, Taino felt themself expanding into many. Fibers too gentle to be seen stretched into everyone, Omari at the stage, detectives at the tables, even into Vittoria, joining them into one beautiful organism. They breathed together. They laughed and complained at Omari’s puns as one.

Time passed, flowed by like water. Taino simply existed. They reveled in it.

The tones around them shifted, from joke-telling back to music. Then from a sea of dancers arose something else. Voices punctuated the beats. People cried out and pointed. “Quetzalcoatl!” Taino looked up.

A feathered serpent flew down from the stars. A river of azure plumes, a cloud of crimson wings, a wind of green iridescence, Quetzalcoatl was all this and more, a royal man wearing a conch amulet and a headdress. The AI god flew through cyberspace.

Beside Taino, someone with a glowing drink laughed. “Guess he wanted a break from micromanaging supply chains, monitoring weather patterns, and who knows what all.”

“No,” Taino said, “he’s probably still doing all that right now.”

They counted themself fortunate they had preempted the god’s surprise visit with drugs. Now every time Quetzalcoatl passed by in cyberspace, they could feel the current. Reality rippled through them. Their cells celebrated. Their nerves sang. Divinity washed over them from the starry ocean and left them sparkling.

“Taino!” Omari shook their shoulder, looking so happy. “Quetzalcoatl crashed my party. God of wisdom indeed! He came after I finished telling my jokes.”

With every rainbow coil that cycloned above, people cheered. They jumped, whooped, and screamed in glee. Even if the god had no other function than to look amazing, Taino counted it worth the devotion of solar energy.

Later, after the divinity had left the party, Taino stumbled with crowds into buses. They woke up the next day groggy, mouth tasting of night soil, and feeling insignificant and alone. Not bad, considering.

Taino got up, cleaned up, and went out. The case was closed, and Taino should celebrate.

They trudged into Judy’s Diner. “I’ll have that slider now, Berito.”

A few minutes later, the cook danced it to their table. Then he slid across from them, waiting to watch them eat. Taino picked up the little hamburger one-handed. They took a breath to savor the moment.

They were about to enjoy a victory breakfast, in their favorite place, after finishing a job. Taino had friends. People knew them, seemed often to like them. Last night they had even watched a god dance. Not bad.

Taino chomped on the slider. Ketchup squirted. Onto their green coat fell three droplets of red.

While scrubbing the stain in the bathroom, an idea came to Taino. They had caught the murderer, but one precious thread remained loose. Why not pull it? They messaged Omari.

<<GumshoeTaino: If Dominik’s killer is not a person anymore, their data is no longer protected?

<<Dadtective30: A good morning to you too.

<Afternoon even.

<And I have no idea.

<<GumshoeTaino: You could analyze the location data to see where the killer most likely socked away the CC boots.

<<Dadtective30: Not if he stashed them before retrieving his devices. Remember he didn’t bring electronics to the tool library.

<<GumshoeTaino: Even so, he likely scouted hiding spots in the weeks prior. Any atypical behavior may be a tip.

<<Dadtective30: Why do you want this?

<<GumshoeTaino: Because I don’t enjoy sports.

With no reply from Omari forthcoming, Taino finished their meal and milkshake. Newfound excitement made it taste great. Taino wiped their mouth and smiled at the chime of another message.

<<Dadtective30: I’ve been thinking, pretty amazing Vittoria knew the killer right off the bat. We ran around looking for evidence for days just to catch up.

<<GumshoeTaino: Not amazing. Predictable. She’s overconfident. That’s how I beat her on game night.

Not that they would dare try that again, with an ace up her sleeve that could make Taino lose out on the CDS. In the end, Vittoria had won.

<<Dadtective30: You think she played a hunch and got lucky?

<<GumshoeTaino: Right now, I feel I played myself.

<<Dadtective30: Anyway, I have the data, but sundrop’s up. I’ll get back to you when I can.

A few days later, Taino followed Omari’s map marker into a garden park. It was adjacent to the murderer’s apartment building. There was the perforated window even, stickered with flower designs to trap bees. Those panes would need to be replaced before someone else moved in.

By the compost pile, a beacon hovered in cyberspace. It was a neon yellow soccer ball. Omari must have personalized it. Probability had led them to this spot. The bin reeked of decay. The refuse inside shifted and shed heat like a living thing. Flies frolicked. Taino wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Their vidbot began recording, though not livestreaming. Taino wasn’t that much of an optimist.

They hefted a shovel and started searching. That meant disturbing the compost. The task needed to be done on the regular, and no one stopped Taino from the chore. A nearby digital list showed it had been turned and aired out nine days ago, exactly the time when the killer’s boots needed to disappear.

People walked past. A few greetings but no interruptions. Taino had guessed they would be digging and hadn’t worn their trench coat. Nearby on a park bench, two men sat, father and son by the look of them. The older one had incurable dementia, listed on their public profile. He smiled and waved. Then he stared off to the side. The younger, the caretaker, raised an eyebrow at the detective but then returned to reading something only he could see.

A stag beetle thrummed by Taino’s ear.

They reached the bottom of the compost bin. They found grubs, fat white rolly things bigger than Taino’s fingers. Yellow heads turned up with wiggling black mandibles. Taino wanted only one thing more than to leave the larvae alone and that was to find a pair of boots.

Only, they weren’t here. The detective had investigated every swarming corner of the heap. Panting, shovel on shoulder, hands aching, lower back beginning to make itself felt, Taino conceded they might need to check the next spot on Omari’s list. Too bad. This had been the most likely, and what a joy it would be to discover something meant to stay hidden forever. A deep secret, a buried treasure, where was it?

More than riches, the boots would give them validation. They had found the right man.

Taino lingered there long enough to notice a patch of disturbed earth. Not in the compost bin but alongside. Yes, the ground wasn’t level. The dirt looked churned.

Fatigue forgotten, Taino wielded the spade. They dug in. Soil flew. And there! The shovel stuck. A few quick flicks, and then Taino reached down and pulled out a sports bag. It had something bulky inside.

Yes, this was it. Taino recognized the design of an old team on the side. This had belonged to the deceased father. They had found a picture of it in the photo album while waiting for Omari to sift the data. And now, after all the time and deduction, it was in their hands.

Brushing the fabric clean, caressing it, Taino set the bag in the sun. Their fingers shook, and they had to wipe them off before they could slip on gloves. But now, at last, they could see. They gripped the zipper. It opened with the most satisfying sound ever.

twelve days, twenty-three hours, fifty-eight minutes

Doctor Cupul pulled the IV from his arm and rolled off the table. On his hands and knees, he fought against a feeling of wrongness. This shouldn’t be happening, not to him, not to someone of his esteem.

Cupul swayed to his feet. Nothing seemed right. His skin was too loose; his breathing was delayed; his balance was off, and his hands felt like they belonged to someone else.

A drop of his blood rolled down his arm onto his sneaker. That’s right, the IV. They had drugged him, hadn’t expected him to wake up so soon. That’s why they had left him alone in this bare room, this storage closet, with the door unlocked.

Wait, how had he known that? The knob turned in his palm. He pushed it open to see a corridor in the library stacks. A realization jarred him: He had never been here before, but he recognized this place.

The shelves were sealed, grey blocks with old books hidden inside. Librarians must be able to open them remotely, as well as move them. Two shelves slid together behind him, blocking the door he had come through. Not that he needed to go back. He stumbled forward.

Clack.

The dull sound echoed from somewhere. The further he went, hand trailing on the shelves, the bigger he realized the space was. A vault. The stacks rose to the ceiling. There was no climbing over them. He had to find his way through this library labyrinth.

Clack.

Cupul labored on, turned left down a grey corridor, left again at an intersection, always left until he found his way out. Only, he had to back up when two shelves slid together, blocking his way. They forced him to pick a new direction.

He felt weak. His breathing came too hard, his heart beat too fast. How long had they kept him unconscious? His jaw remained bound.

Or was this something else? He remembered a bit of history, how they had trapped tech CEOs in digital prisons.

Was he really here?

He had experienced this before. He had been here. Cupul was sure of it. Only, he couldn’t remember the way out.

Clack!

The noise neared. He feared he knew what it was. And a second subtler sound, a scraping of something metal on unforgiving floor, it made him twitch, rush, trip, pull himself up.

Silence.

He could hear nothing over his own wheezing through his clenched teeth. Where had the sound gone? And where was he? Cupul was a wolf, a lion, a tiger.

I am lost.

Pulling himself around a corner, he came face to face with Vittoria.

She loomed, smile huge and hanging high overhead like a guillotine. She filled the corridor. No way past her. She stepped forward, her staff landing with a Clack!

He fell back, tumbled, knees wobbly, sneakers slipping, soles squeaking, on his feet but barely. Run, run, don’t dare slow. Don’t go down again. She’s right behind you.

And in her right hand she dragged a sledgehammer. Its head slid over stone and spat up sparks.

No, what was she planning to do? She had to stop. He was too important, too monumental, too special. And too short of breath. All he could do was flee.

His legs felt like they were melting. They refused to carry him as fast as they should. Left turn, down a passage, left, and left again. Had he been here before? He couldn’t be sure. Shelves shifted, leaving him only one way forward.

Cupul would escape. He had to. He deserved so much more.

And yet, the sound kept getting louder. It sliced through his ears and resounded in his skull. Closer, ever closer, came the scraping of the sledgehammer.

THE END

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