“So you're saying magic is our best bet?”

“I'm saying that by the time we’re done here, it might be the only explanation we have.”

Detective Lane could sense from the tone in Knox's voice that he needed to give his partner space to let the case percolate through his mind. Knox appreciated not having to forcefully shove Lane aside.

Detective Knox wondered what kind of parasite had gotten inside his partner, eating away everything but his optimism. Optimism was for characters in books, not something that should be believed in by flesh and blood people. Everything is easier when the ending has already been written, and is merely waiting for someone to connect the dots and fill in the blanks. Real life is a different beast, however. The answer may appear one day, it might fall right out of the sky, but counting on it is a fool's errand. Detective Knox thought optimism would have been bred out through evolution long before, but there did not appear to be much intelligence guiding the process.

Puzzling Murder Scene Ripped From The Pages Of Pulp

By: William McNeal

Police last night responded to yet another murder, only to find that this time something was different. This city is infamous for the violence that occurs within its borders, most of which is related to the rampant criminal underground which has overrun much of normal life. Rather than being another in a long line of criminal killings, the murder of George Hobbes presents the police with a different challenge; solving the unsolvable.

Sources in the department have revealed key details of the scene, which paint a picture straight out of a mystery novel. Mr. Hobbes' body was discovered, stabbed to death, in the middle of a locked room. The initial investigation has revealed no evidence of tampering with the locks, nor any other means for a killer to have gotten in and out of the room. It is, by all accounts, a real-life mystery.

It is too early to rush to judgement, but this case could very well become a referendum on the entirety of the city's law enforcement. Their ability to solve this case would go a long way towards restoring faith in law and order in the face of overwhelming violence and bloodshed. Citizens have spent far too long living in fear, as criminal enterprises take control of all aspects of life in this city. The police have been powerless to stop their advance, but have maintained normal order outside their ranks.

This case will present an opportunity for the police to flex their muscles and prove they have not given up chasing the evils that plague our streets. The statistics may make catching every killer difficult, but they can show they are not picking only the low-hanging fruit. Solving a high-profile murder, with the spotlights shining on them, will give pause even to the criminal underbelly that has for so long relied on police negligence and incompetence.

Watching this case play out will be a watershed moment for this city. Our very futures may depend on it.

Chapter 6

Reminders Of Death

Dawn is supposed to bring new hope, the promise of another day. Each sunrise carries in it the warm embrace of possibility, the chance to set ourselves on a new path and make all right again with the world. Morning light stirred no hope in Detective Knox's soul. Sunlight didn't shine on miracles; it made clear the scars and debris left on the battlefield after the fight for survival took yet more casualties the night before. He looked around the city and saw nothing but reminders of death, a concrete cemetery that entombed him.

Sleep had eluded him, not that he gave any effort to the cause. His mind was too filled with questions to shut down for even a moment. Some days he thought of himself as a machine in perpetual motion, and if he ever stopped the endless torrent of his thoughts, he would surely die. It may have been a justification for his obsession, but convincing an addict of the damage his drug of choice has done is nearly impossible, and Knox made sure no one tried staging such an intervention on his behalf.

He was an addict, and enjoyed the fix too much; he reveled in weaving the threads together to form the tapestry of truth. Without truth, there was nothing in life worth surviving for. This outlook was bleak, he knew, but it made his life possible. If indeed he was merely waiting for the reaper to call his name, there was no sense denying himself a little bit of fulfillment along the way.

The precinct was normally empty so early in the morning, but Knox did not walk into a box devoid of life. Phones already buzzed, keyboards clattered uninterrupted strings of letters, and the clamor of voices mingled together in one unholy howl. This, Knox thought, proved how important it was for him to keep chasing evil, to continue trying to convince the people that crime was a consequence of, and not the cause of, life. Against this backdrop, he had no choice but to smile, fill his lungs, and brace himself for when reality would come down from above and crush him as it always did.

Detective Lane waited at his desk, the look of an eager puppy on his face. Knox knew already it was going to be a long, tortuous day. Lane didn't move until Knox sat, and after handing a cup of what was politely called coffee to his partner, he began.

“George Hobbes doesn't have much family, but they're all in the city, so they're our prime suspects. We've rounded them up, and they should all be here shortly. I convinced the captain to let us handle all three of the interviews.”

Knox was not impressed by his partner's display of initiative. Talking to suspects was a chore, one Knox preferred to leave to others, so he could focus his attention on more important tasks, which to him meant anything but human conversation. Hearing the words as they were spoken wouldn't reveal anything more than a transcript would, and served only to slow down his access to the information he needed. Body language was one Detective Knox did not speak, his eyes giving him no more information than words would convey. If anything, Knox thought, he learned less by being in the room, because he was distracted by the uncomfortable choice of where his gaze should be focused.

“Why on earth would you have done that?”

Lane didn't understand the question. He assumed any detective worth his salt would want to conduct the interviews himself, to control the proceedings and make sure no detail escaped attention. Knox didn't operate according to the conventions, which made it hard for Lane to know how to proceed. It put him continually in the wrong, making the desired progress of getting into Knox’s good graces impossible.

“I figured you would want to be the one to question them, since only you know what you have in your mind.”

“You have a point, or I suppose you would, if I had a theory to work with. I'm drawing a blank right now.”

“Trust me, something one of them says is going to lead you off on a trail that you'll be interested in following.”

“There's that trust word again. You know I don't like it.”

“I do, but I also know that feeding your pessimism isn't healthy. If we both think we're going to fail, it kind of becomes self-fulfilling.”

* * *

Faith Hobbes carried herself with an unusual air of confidence, considering the circumstances. Though no longer the doting wife, she came into the precinct inexorably tied to her ex-husband, a fact that should have led her to show sympathy, either real or imagined. That she didn't try to hide the lack of emotion she felt was telling, at least to Detective Knox. It might not have been an indicator of guilt, but it revealed the sort of woman she was, and what she could be capable of.

Sitting across the table from him, she gave off the same air of burden he did, as though neither one of them wanted to be in the room together. His reticence stemmed from his displeasure at having to talk with people who would offer little in the way of insight, while hers was forged from an attitude of nonchalance. It appeared, looking at her, that she didn't care that her former spouse was dead, or that she was one of the likely suspects.