“It is if you're actually trying to get to the truth. Look, it's one thing to solve a case. It's a whole different task to figure out what really happened. That don't always mesh.”

“And what he does is try to figure out the big picture, not just the little bit we get to see.”

“Pretty much. There's more to a mystery than who did it.”

“Finding out the how and why is as important as finding out the who.”

“Now you're starting to get it.”

“Thanks. You've been a big help.”

“That's a first.”

Chapter 20

Sin-Light

A few stray beams of sunlight snuck through the clouds, reflecting off the windshields of the cars lining the street, blinding anyone who didn't shield their eyes. It was rare, in the city, for the sun to bestow the people with rays of hope once they had been roused from their slumber. The city was a dark void, a black hole that sucked the life out of anyone who dared enter its limits. Even sunlight refused to dip a toe in the water, lest it be sucked in like the rest, never to escape.

The city exercised a pull on its inhabitants, and even the most jaded of them stayed long past the point when they should have made the break. It had a way of turning people into prisoners, brainwashing them into believing that life would be no better anywhere else, despite the fact that it could not be any worse. Stockholm syndrome may have made them stay, but it was not a happy accident. The city was a living being, working to control as many lives as possible, breeding a constant supply of fresh souls to harvest.

The glare caught Detective Knox squarely in the eyes, burning them a deeper shade of red. He raised his hand to shield them, cursing the sun for daring to make an appearance. This place, he thought, was not one that should be seen, certainly not with fresh eyes and bright light. The sun illuminated the dried trails of blood that led into every storm drain, the cracked burgundy walkways that traveled the path of death, things best left under the cover of darkness. Sunlight illuminated the sins of the city, which led Knox to call it 'sin-light', a term he felt was more befitting.

Detective Knox understood how absurd it was to be annoyed by clear skies and sunshine, but he also understood that not everything in life was meant to be beautiful. Without the light, the dark was all you knew, and things didn't look so bad. Only the comparison could stop the desensitization that was necessary to live in the city. Sunshine, he thought, was as much a poison as any chemical.

Detective Lane spotted Knox from a block away, leaning on the hood of the car, his breath spiraling into the sky like a plume of pure white smoke. As always, he looked to be lost in thought, oblivious to the bustling world passing him by. It was fitting, Lane thought, that Knox had no idea, in addition to no care, for the progress that threatened to bury him alive.

Knox didn’t notice him until he was standing within inches, well within the bubble of personal space Knox insisted on maintaining. Lane cleared his throat, alerting Knox to his arrival. Knox turned his head, a wedge cut from the dark circles of his eyes by the corner, exposing just enough for both sides to know the connection had been made.

“You really should be more careful about where you are when you go off into your own little world. Standing in the middle of the street probably isn't a good idea.”

“If you hang around long enough, you realize nothing is a good idea.”

“I'm sure it's not, but you don't want your obituary to say that you got hit by a car while you were busy thinking, do you?”

“Hey, I'm proud of the fact that I actually think.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Lighten up, will you? So where were you?”

Detective Lane was fortunate that Knox was not a proponent of eye contact; as it would have been much more difficult to lie to his partner. Able to cast his eyes aside, Lane felt more comfortable, picking his words carefully so they would not be truly deceitful.

“I had something personal to take care of. It's nothing you need to worry about.”

“I'm not worried. I just didn't realize we were hiding things from each other.”

“You hide things from me all the time. You barely tell me anything.”

“Fair enough. I should say I didn't realize you were hiding things from me.”

“You can't just let me have this, can you?”

“What kind of partner would I be if I didn't give you a hard time?”

“A good one.”

“That's debatable. So really, where were you?”

Lane wondered for a moment whether to tell Knox the truth. There would be some embarrassment to be sure, but maybe his partner would consider it a sign of initiative that he’d gone out and made an effort to become a better detective. The most likely scenario, he realized, was that Knox would not care at all, and the angst he was feeling about his decision would be for nothing. His conscience would get the better of him in time, he knew, so it was better to rip the bandage off the wound and take the pain, to at least save himself the trauma of endless anxiety.

“I was talking to your old partner. I thought he might be able to tell me a few things about how to satisfy you.”

“You might want to rephrase that.”

Detective Lane's face reddened, a mix of anger and embarrassment. Even in moments of honesty, words had a penchant for twisting themselves into problems. Saying what was intended was not as simple as just transcribing a thought. Language had a way of playing games with your head.

“I was getting some advice on how to live up to the ridiculous standards you set.”

“They aren't ridiculous. All I want is for you to learn how to do the job.”

“If that's the case, how about you spend a couple of minutes teaching me what that entails, rather than leave me twisting in the wind, wondering if everything I do is wrong.”

“That's the whole point. Haven't you figured that out yet?”

“No. What are you talking about?”

“Doubt. The key to being a good detective is doubt. You need to doubt everything you know, everything you see, and every idea you have. Only when you assume you're wrong all the time will you start to see what's possible.”

“I'm still lost.”

“Let me put it to you this way; most times, your first idea is going to be wrong. That's true for all of us. What the book doesn't tell you is that you're going to waste half your career chasing down the wrong leads. If you start out with the assumption that the idea in your mind is wrong, you can move on and try to think of other possibilities. More often than not, one of those will be the right answer.”

“Expect failure to find success?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“You make this a lot harder than it needs to be.”

“No, everyone believes it's a lot easier than it really is.”

“Can we get back to the case now?”

“Sure. I made some calls while you were busy.”

The detectives crossed the street, walking back into the heart of the abandoned building that George Hobbes had been taken to. As ugly as it was the first time they laid eyes upon it, the sunlight accentuated its ghastly features, highlighting the crumbling decadence and inch thick grime that painted the exterior. Whether originally intended or not, the structure was an abattoir for souls, a mass grave unnoticed in the midst of ordinary life.

The interior looked no better in daylight, the relics of life merely allowed the dust to collect at different heights, creating a topographical map of rot. Some would say it was a fitting place for a kidnapping to wind up, but Knox felt differently, amazed that life could survive within those walls for more than a few minutes at a time. Even the air seemed to have given up; it was thinner and failed to fill the lungs.

“So what do you think we're going to find here?”