“Did I ever tell you I hate music?”
Lane wanted to pause the conversation and explore that point. He couldn't comprehend how someone could live without a fundamental piece of the human experience. Detective Knox's admission was almost a confession that he wasn't quite human. Lane needed to say something, but knew it would have to wait for a more opportune time.
“No, I would have remembered something that crazy.”
“I lose track of these things.”
“So what about the body? You said it was a dead end.”
“Doc says there wasn't a shred of evidence to be found. No prints, no DNA, no nothing. He can't even tell what sort of knife was used.”
“Sounds like I didn't miss anything by not joining you down there.”
“Maybe not, but that's not an excuse. What were you doing?”
“I was starting to look into the victim’s background, see if there was anything about him that might point to who would most want him dead.”
Detective Knox didn't enjoy putting pressure on his partner, but saw it as a vital part of his job. Without someone pushing Lane he would never progress as a detective. It was only when his back was against the wall that he would push through his limits, and that kind of situation happened all too infrequently. Though he would come across as insensitive and boorish, Knox was doing what he thought was in Lane's best interest.
“That's a good idea. Have you come up with anything?”
“I'm not sure. I don't see anything suspicious in the financial records, but that doesn't mean money wasn't the motive. And there are some emails I can't get access to yet that we'll need to send to the tech guys. But from what I've seen, it's not going to be anything salacious.”
“That's what I figured. We're not going to catch a break anytime soon.”
“It doesn't seem like it. So what's our next move?”
Knox wanted to admit the truth, that they didn't have a next move, that giving up and admitting defeat would be the most prudent move. Every hero has a nemesis who gets the better of them, and this case might be the one they were destined not to solve. It was not weakness or cowardice to admit failure; it was a necessary step in assessing their own abilities.
Despite this, Knox was unwilling to bow to the forces of evil, because he knew all too well the soul-crushing feeling that resulted from a file being put in the pile of cold cases. Lane had yet to go through this rite of passage, and though Knox was certain it would happen one day, he was determined not to be the one leading the suicide charge.
“We head back to the scene and see if we missed anything. Maybe something will look different in light of what we've garnered from the family.”
“Good thinking. Besides, we could use a little fresh air.”
* * *
Sunlight gave the scene a new appearance, purifying it of the horror they felt the last time they set foot within the walls. The golden aura hanging above them shone down with a hopeful warmth, in stark contrast to the harsh lines and cold shadows they were used to. This time, they could see the scene not as a container storing the remnants of evil, but as a place a family might consider home. The sunlight filtered through the windows, cut into prisms, filling every inch of the building with life. This new light made the recollection of what had happened all the more tragic.
Detective Lane peeled away from his partner, who was headed straight for the murder scene. Lane preferred to get a sense of the bigger picture, looking all around to soak up as much of the atmosphere as he could. Every picture revealed something about the people who lived there, and the few photographs strategically placed around the house gave small glimpses into a family the two of them had yet to understand.
What Lane could see in those pictures was the lack of love between the people who called themselves family. In none of them could he read affection on their faces; their body language was stiff to the point where he could not tell if the picture had captured only a second in time. Everything he saw defied expectations, and brought to mind more questions. He felt as though he was standing in a doll house, a facsimile built to describe what life must be like.
Lane's musings were interrupted as a heavy groan filled the air, echoing off the empty walls. His first thought was not to rush towards the sound to see what was happening, it was to note that he found himself in what he might well consider the worst place possible to commit a violent murder. The thought came and went in a flash, and Lane, once again clear-headed, took off in pursuit.
An eerie sense of deja vu struck Lane as he turned into the room. Detective Knox lay on the floor, in the same spot where George Hobbes had lain the previous night. It was as though he had stepped back in time, and he stood, frozen in the moment, until Knox's voice rose above the silence.
“Get over here and help me up.”
Lane did as he was told, raising his partner like a sunken ship from the floor. The effort involved in both tasks seemed monumental, Lane thought, as he struggled to lift Knox.
“What happened?”
“I found something under the desk, and when I got down to take a look at what it was, my back went out.”
“Oh, that's all.”
“What do you mean that's all?”
“I wasn't going to say anything, but when I walked in, I thought I was looking at another dead body.”
“Very funny. Trust me, if I were dead, I would have taken someone with me. Probably you.”
“So what did you find?”
Knox opened his hand, revealing a small sliver of black plastic. They both knew this could be the key they had been searching for.
“This was hidden so well, there has to be something useful on it.”
“How did we miss it before?”
“There was a hidden panel built into the bottom of the desk. Just looking at it, you'd never know it was there. I felt an edge when I ran my hand across it. It was dumb luck.”
“The best kind.”
“Yeah. Let's see what we've got.”
The detectives were happy to leave once again, not merely to escape the specter of death that hung in the air, but because they could feel hope growing inside them for the first time. Every puzzle has a solution, Knox would frequently say, and they may have just stumbled upon theirs.
Lane kept a computer in the car, part of his pressing need to be over-prepared for any emergency. Knox would give him a hard time about it, but was glad to have a partner who at least tried to carry his own weight. Plus, Knox thought, it saved him the trouble of having to plan for every occasion by himself, freeing his mind for more important matters.
Lane took the drive and inserted it. They waited, breath held, for the flashing lights to reveal their splendor to them. The screen shifted, but instead of taking them on the first step towards solving the case, it provided yet another obstacle. Given what he had experienced in his brief encounters with the Hobbes family, Knox couldn't blame George for encrypting whatever information the drive possessed. He wouldn't have trusted those people with anything of value either.
“That's just our rotten luck.”
“Relax, kid. We'll send it over to the tech guys, and I'm sure they'll be able to break the encryption in no time.”
“But that means more waiting.”
“I know it's frustrating, but at least now we're waiting for a clue to be deciphered, not to magically fall from the sky.”
“It's not a whole lot better.”
“It's something, and it means we might finally get a little momentum moving in the right direction.”
Chapter 11
Walking Shells
The furious buzz had left the precinct, the drones circling around the desks having returned to their natural state. It was understandable that, in a setting that saw so much death and depravity, normalcy would return in short order. Veterans of the trade would not be moved to a frenzy for long before their regulators kicked in, lowering them to the base standard on which they operated. It was better for them, in the long run, to divorce themselves as much as possible from their work. If they didn't, over time, it would eat away at them cell by cell, until they were walking shells waiting to be filled by the evil of the day.