To be alive was not a simple statement of fact, it was a cause to rally around. Whatever lay over the horizon, after this life was over, it was a mystery even Detective Knox did not want to solve. There was only so much time before that end came, little enough that every moment needed to have the happiness squeezed and extracted, to condense the feelings into an elixir strong enough to dull us from the inevitable. Most days, people were more than happy to stare ahead and put one foot in front of the other without considering what was to come, but frigid city nights were different. They required a choice to be made between life and death, between the easy way and the hard. That choice was why Detective Knox preferred the dark, gloomy season.

The painkillers in his system were wearing off, but he still felt nothing. Adrenaline was pumping, coursing a fiery energy through his body. For a moment, he felt like his younger self, before his body had begun its slow slide into the waiting grasp of gravity. Youth was not something he felt anxious to recover, but the feeling stirred in him memories of the past. He was a different man back then, but not a better one. What the physical had taken from him, the mental had given. There were advantages to being a broken-down wreck, not the least of which was being thrown aside and ignored, when the filter between mind and mouth had grown too thin to contain the ugly thoughts that filled the mind.

In the distance, between the squared-off foliage of glass and iron, the sun peered above the horizon. Why it would choose to rise day after day, given the horrors it would shed light upon, was a puzzle to Detective Knox. It was impossible to wash away sins when the blood stained bright red, rather than the eerily beautiful shade of black illuminated by the moon. It seemed to him that the sun was a tormenter, reminding people of the difficulties that lay ahead. Hell was said to be an eternal fire, which, to Detective Knox, was no different than the sun. Perhaps, he considered, everyone had been looking in the wrong direction all along.

He climbed the steps in twos, waiting for the clock to strike, and his body to turn back into a pumpkin. He reached the top without crumbling, without his joints leaking a critical amount of whatever hydraulic was needed to lubricate the gears. The interior struck him in the face, burning like a bird having fallen into a furnace vent. Warmth was connected with positivity, but Detective Knox could not see the sense in massaging away the aches and pains while hunting for the truth. Discomfort built focus, and the precinct was too tempting a retreat for the force to venture out into the city to do their jobs properly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Detective Knox could see Lane waiting for him, his head slumped on his shoulders like an anchor slowly pulling a body down to the depths of the sea. Two cups of coffee sat on the desk in front of him, steaming away, but failing to inject life into Lane's tired body. Knox slapped his hand atop the desk, rousing Lane from his sleep. His head jerked up, his eyes blinking to adjust to the light. They focused on Detective Knox, who had grabbed the other cup of coffee, and was pressing it to his lips.

“What did you get me up at the crack of dawn for?”

“I might have solved the case.”

“That's nice, but couldn't it have waited for morning?”

“The truth waits for no man, kid.”

“Are you on drugs?”

“A few, yes. But that's not important. What matters is that when that phone rings, Dr. Morse is going to tell me if I'm right. If I am, which I think I am, people will be calling us heroes by the end of the day.”

“Heroes?”

“I know it's garbage, but they're going to, and I'm not going to stop them, if it makes them feel better.”

“I thought you hated attention.”

“I do, but I also like the idea of getting this monkey off our backs.”

“Point taken.”

The phone rang, and Lane picked it up, knowing his partner would not want to. He pressed a button, turning on the speaker, letting himself in on the conversation.

“Doc, do you have some news for me?”

“I think I do. I got your message.”

“And what do you think about it?”

“I can't say I've ever heard of that as a way of killing anyone before. I've seen plenty of murders, but nothing like what you suggest.”

“Killers are always looking for new ways to kill. The question at hand is whether or not you think it's possible. Could someone commit a murder that way?”

There was a pause, as Dr. Morse gave it one last thought. Detective Knox knew he had an answer, or else he would not have called. The pause was either a dramatic flourish, or a bad omen.

“I was going to say that if you're asking if your suggestion is the method in which George Hobbes was killed, I'm going to need more time with the body to figure that out. But if you're asking an abstract hypothetical, I can give you an answer to that.”

“That's all I need.”

“In that case, I can tell you that yes, it is possible to commit a murder in such a way.”

“Thanks, Doc. You take a closer look at the body, and I'll go arrest the killer.”

“We could trade if you want.”

“No thanks, Doc. I don't think you could handle the living.”

“Of course not. Why do you think I'm down here?”

Detective Knox hung up the phone, a sly grin contorting his face. Solving a case, especially one that had seemed impossible, one that had taunted him from the very start, was the closest thing to ecstasy he could imagine. He could not remember ever feeling better about himself than he did at that moment, when he had overcome every obstacle to uncover a truth he wasn't sure existed.

Lane looked at his partner, wondering what thoughts went through his mind when he was supposed to be happy. The concept seemed foreign to Detective Knox, and Lane believed it could only be synthesized as a facsimile in his head. Knox was a mystery to him, and Lane was not yet awake enough to dare poke about for that information.

“Kid, we've got our work cut out for us today. I need you to . . .”

“Wait a second. Are you going to tell me your epiphany?”

“All in due time. It might be fun to see your reaction when everyone else finds out.”

“And you would do that to me, your partner?”

“Of course I would. Don't you know me by now?”

“I like to think you've gained a bit of respect for me.”

“I have, kid. That's why I'm not telling you.”

“That makes no sense.”

“I'm giving you a little more time to try figuring it out for yourself. You know everything I do, and now you know the Doc can find the evidence on the body, so what more do you need?”

“A new partner, for one.”

“Someday, you're going to think this is a great story to tell.”

“You're right. It'll make a great example of how not to treat someone.”

“I'll tell you what, if you come up with the right answer before I reveal it, I'll retire.”

“You have that little faith in my abilities?”

“It's called incentivizing you. I'm giving you a chance.”

“I'll take it.”

“Good. But first, I need you to make some calls. We need to gather together everyone involved in the case. I've always wanted to do one of those big reveals in front of all the suspects.”

“Something strange has gotten into you.”

“Maybe, maybe not. All I know is after the hell this case put us through, we deserve to have a little fun with it.”

“Fun? With a murder case?”

“A little black humor never hurt anyone.”

Chapter 28

The River Of Relief

Excitement filled the empty room, pulsing through the air, strong enough to be tactile to someone in tune with its frequency. Previous forays into the home of George Hobbes had been expeditions into a giant tomb, the feeling of death overwhelming. This time, Detective Knox felt something very different, an energy that tingled in the tips of his fingers. The pages of the book being written were turning over faster, the end racing towards him. The river of relief was flowing, the ice breaking up as rays of hope began to melt the barricades.