I close my eyes for a moment and try to rewind, memories come out with their blue greyish tint and take over my mind like cancerous cells floating free in the bloodstream'¦
13th August 896 A.S, just another boring night patrol or at least that's what I thought. The car was flying through the air highway, racing past skyscrapers adorned with various neon signs and holographic commercials creating the illusion of long streaks of light following the vehicle. The city itself was glistening so brightly even the stars were ashamed to show up, instead a thick blanket of clouds illuminated by countless searchlights covered the sky. The voice of the operator came through the speakers like a song you've heard a thousand times, you hear it but your brain doesn't really register it, instead you stay locked in your self-made nirvana.
'Aren't you going to get that Phillips?'
And there's always that voice that drags you out of your bliss, slaps you across the face and introduces you to her majesty the reality. In that case it was the voice of my partner David Jones, a good but fairly boring and quiet guy in his late 30s.
[color=#FFFFFF]'Ray Phillips here dispatch, badge number twelve fourteen'
'Detective, we have a reported 187 in the lower city, Marlowe Street 38'
'Roger that dispatch, we are on our way. Over. Turn on the sirens Jones; we are going to your favourite place'
'Ughhh, next time when I'm assigned with you I'm calling in sick'
The city was like a tumour growing around the oozing wound opened on the place where the Liberty touched down. It bore the marks of the mindless expansion our glorious country went through in the past 8 centuries. The lower levels were a maze of power lines, sky bridges connecting the buildings and pipes, all sealed down there since day one by the vertical growth of the city. Finding a sun patch during day time in the lower city was almost as hard as finding an alley not inhabited by homeless people living in the clutters of trash, as hard as finding a wall which not covered by graffiti, or a neon sign which was working perfectly. No car could fly in there more than 10 meters without crashing into something, instead people drove on roads, the rich ones could afford vehicles hybrids like the police cruiser both terra and aerodyne but then again the rich avoided the lower city like it was death incarnated. Ironically nothing could have been closer to the truth.
Jones put the car down on the road with the grace of a steamroll in a pottery shop, which almost placed my kidneys in the ankles. Several minutes later we arrived at the crime scene. It was a narrow street, lit by a flickering street lamp, some 50 meters down a small diner restaurant was nested on the corner with an intersecting street, by the looks of it Cardamine was probably tonight's special, truly the word 'dodgy' must have been created for that place. On the left sidewalk half a dozen police officers kept a crowd at bay behind a police line right in front of a public net terminal. I got out of the car walking slowly towards the cops securing the perimeter.
'Detective Ray Phillips, this is my partner detective David Jones, give me the run through'
'Hello detective, the victim is male by his looks in the late 20s early 30s, one visible gunshot to the back of the head.'
Just when you think you are used to it reality hits you in the gut, you say to yourself; 'That was it, I will not be bothered by murders again' and yet everyone single one gives you that nasty kick. Every single one is like a beautiful lady in a bed with satin sheathes, tempting and somewhat mystical, waiting for you to go and uncover her.
The poor bastard probably didn't see it coming, his brain went on a blind date with the brick wall leaving crimson and grey traces of its presence. The public net terminal stood there above the victim as if laughing at him, flashing the ironic 'have a nice day' on the screen. The odd bit was he was lying with his back, yet the gaping hole with scorched edges on his forehead indicated that was the exit wound. As I inspected the body, David continued talking to the officer who greeted us, no doubt asking for any witnesses. The search of the body didn't reveal much except the victim's name, George Smith, courteously told to me by his empty wallet.
'Dave, what's up with the witnesses?'
'None of the actual shooting, the girl who reported the murder is here as well as a man who says he was walking his dog heard gunshots and came to see what's up'
An old gentleman's rule, ladies first even if they happen to be prostitutes selling their bodies in the lower city just so they could afford another hit of Cardamine to keep their minds firmly away from the stinking cesspit their lives have become. The working girl in question was near a police officer, smoking a cigarette nervously. She was also the first suspect ' the one to report the murder. I told David to question the man with the dog as I made my way to the lady.
'Hello ma'am, I'm detective Phillips'
'Hi, I'm Rita'
'So, Rita how did you find the body'
'Just the way it is now, I got scared so I called the cops'
She was lying, a flicker in the eye, braking of the eye contact for a millisecond, a slight change in her voice, the poor liar's giveaways. Besides dead men are not known for turning over so they can rest in a more comfortable position. I had to put some pressure on her.
'And we won't find one of your fingerprints on the body?'
She shivered and lowered her sight for a second as if ashamed, primal instinct of self-defense
'Alright, alright, I just checked if he was alive'
'Just that? You didn't make sure his wallet was alright too?'
'I might have'¦But hey he doesn't need creds anymore, that's hardly a crime!'
'But contaminating the crime scene is'
I felt sorry for her but sympathy is just a fancy way of saying 'I want to be stabbed in the back' down here.
'Take her away, I will question her further later, download DNA samples from her neural implants too, if she's got any, if not take a blood sample'
Jones have finished interrogating the man with the dog, his expression said more than the lengthiest conversation we could have had, namely ' he found nothing.
'Let's get back in the car, Dave; we can't do anything until the forensic guys get here, we'll ask dispatch for any relatives of the victim and go give them the tear inducing news'
We got in the car and drove off in search for a spot from which we could take off and reach the air ways. I picked up the radio and called the central
'Central, this is detective Phillips badge number twelve fourteen. I need information on George Smith ID number 077281986'
'Roger that detective, give me a second'¦.Right, George Williams Smith, not married, no children. Parents deceased, one brother Nathaniel Williams Smith. Address: Hell's Kitchen, Willows Street 2933Y, Apartment 23'
'Can you give the address of the brother?'
'Sure...Hell's Kitchen Willows Street 2933Y, Apartment 21, the door opposite of the victim's apparently'
'Thank you central, Phillips out'
Hell's Kitchen'¦ that was the upper city'¦What was a guy from the upper doing down in the slums? One more piece of the puzzle that didn't match up, laughing at me, teasing me, forcing me to be the bearer of bad news to the victim's brother in an attempt to gain just a bit more information.
Jones stopped the car on the landing pad in front of the massive Art-Deco styled building block. We got out and walked in, the musty smell of high-life hit us right in, the smell of expensive cigars, expensive wood furniture and expensive fake smiles. Climbing up the stairs was an ascension to the word of rich and famous a world of lies and illusions. The knocks on the door were like death bells bringing a sense of mortality in this illuminated and immortal world. However there was no one on the other side to answer that call. Just when we were ready to give up and go home a shadowy figure appeared on the other end of the hallway, his direction indicated that he was heading towards apartment 23, the apartment of the victim
'Can I help you, sirs?'
'Mister Smith?'
'Yes'
'Detective Jones and detective Phillips from Mid. City PD'
'How can I help you?'
The man tried to unlock the door but the lock rejected his card, he put on a smile not unlike the one a kid would do having soiled its pants.
'Silly me, I just needed to discuss a couple of things with my brother'
'Actually we are here about your brother'
Having unlocked the right door this time the man let us in. Walking into his apartment was like going through a gateway to another world, the kitsch styling of the corridor was replaced by a place cluttered with books lying everywhere, dusty floors and for completion of the dystopic picture the room probably wasn't ventilate since the first term of president Jacobi.
'Have a seat, sirs. Anything to drink?'
A redundant question, he was perfectly aware we were on duty. Now the pressure was on me, I had to be bearer of the bad news.
'Sir, could you please take a seat? Let's double check first. You brother is George Williams Smith right?'
'Yes'
'We found him dead in the lower city'¦I'm sorry.'
The man took a sip from his glass then made a loud sigh
'H-how?'
'He was shot in the head. If it's any consolation he probably didn't feel a thing?'
'I want to ask you a couple of questions about your brother if that's alright ,mister Smith?'
'S-s-sure'
The voices of Dave and the devastated brother faded away. I felt an urge to go and check out the victim's apartment. As if a marionette on strings I got up and headed there, simply giving Dave a nod, he understood me perfectly well. What I found was a little oddity by itself. The room was the complete opposite not only in location and layout but also in aesthetics, everything was perfectly clean well ventilated and lit almost too pedantically tidied. It was a boring room, or a dead room to the investigation, it revealed absolutely nothing...I did however find the circuit schematics, brainwaves diagrams and software code lines displayed written on a couple holographic sheets, covering the desk rather interesting, partially because my own interests and hobbies were in a similar direction. I went back to the little disorderly chaos the devastated brother lived in, just as Dave was finishing the initial questioning.
'What do you do for living mister Smith?'
'I'm a real estate agent, I work at Starview Properties...Excuse me sirs but this all a bit too much...can I...I'll be glad to answer your questions tomorrow but I'd rather be alone now...'
'Of course mister Smith, I'm sorry for your loss again'
'Just...just get the bastards, please'
By the time we left it was already 4 in the morning, Dave dropped me off at my flat before heading off to leave the police cruiser at the PD. What followed was a typical sleepless night after the beginning of a case, the possibilities ran through my mind like a slideshow programmed by a 4 year old too fast to give you any real information but just enough to tease you into opening the picture manually. Suspects or rather the lack of any, facts and images cascaded down my synapses raising questions I didn't yet have the answer for.
On the next day I was in the office with my partner going through what we already knew while we waited for the forensic report to come in through.
'So where was the brother at the time of the Murder?'
'At work, the CCTVs confirm it. Did you find anything new about the victim?'
'He worked for the First Libertonian Bank, an interesting fact for you though: he has a life insurance at
Interspace Commerce for the mere twenty million credits'
'Who's the benefactor?'
'Nathaniel Smith'
'The brother? We've got a main suspect then, but he couldn't have killed him'
'Yeah well that doesn't mean he didn't hire somebody else to do it for him.'
'That's fine and all but how do we prove it? We've got no murder weapon, no idea who the killer might be, and besides that's only a theory the brother might very well be clear...'
Just as I was trying to swallow the ball of needles in my throat induced by the sense of helplessness, Jack from forensics barged into the room like a squad of machine gunners chased him through the corridors and into my office, his hyper active behaviour was the actual culprit however. I hated that joker...
'G'day guys, I know something you don't!'
'Enlighten us'
'I've got the results from the lab, the victim was shot with an Agiera industries A-34 pistol at point blank range, the neural implants however were miraculously intact and the guys in the tech lab are working on them.'
'Well it's better than nothing'
'WAAAAIT it gets better! It seems at least the victim died satisfied, ah-he-he'
'What the hell are you on about?'
Did I mention I hated that joker?
'The prostitute, we found his DNA in her'
'Now that's something Jack'
So the little looting action Rita did was not the first time she got money from the dead man. As with every case there comes this moment just this tiny little break just enough to refuel your burning desire to uncover the mystery. After a rather quick and enthusiastic discussion as well as a call to the judge for a search warrant Dave insistent that he was one to interrogate Rita who was still in the lock up, leaving the pleasure of venturing into the lower city to me. Not surprisingly, she happened to live just across the street from the murder scene.
A building repair work forced me to take a little detour resulting in a rather long drive through the lower city offering its decadent beauty to me once more. Rita lived in old building adorned with graffiti; her apartment itself was a monument to human degeneracy. A peculiar smell a mixture of sweat and disinfectant filled the air telling stories dirtier than the carpet which hasn't been vacuumed in about a millennia. There were 3 rooms in total, a small kitchen a bathroom and a living/sleeping room all of which sickening in both appearance and odour. Oddly enough the bed was covered in a plastic wrap, and a couple of universal connection cables were rolled on the floor near it - an odd thing to find in a prostitute's house but after all there were some majorly weird things going on in the lower city as it is and sexual fantasies which could easily drive a therapist insane. What wasn't odd however was an Ageira Industries A-34 blaster pistol sticking out of one of the drawers. The hope flickered like a ship breaking up during re-entry and died just as decisively. Every pistol kept a record of its firings in the built in the computer and this one hasn't been fired in month, furthermore the computer revealed that the gun was registered to George Williams Smith. Why would he leave his pistol here to have his brains blown off out in the street? Something didn't add up, the victim was definitely here, and the set up of the room suggested it was prepared for disposal of a body, plastic wraps to keep the lifeless carcass away from prying eyes and hide the traces of the crime. Rita was involved in the murder, but why wasn't he killed here, why was his sidearm just lying around? Did the Nathaniel hire Rita to get rid of his brother, perhaps offering her a share from the insurance money? A piece of the puzzle was missing and unfortunately that piece happened to be the size of a lorry.
It was midday but the streets were just as dark as they were last night at the time of the murder. The lower city was also quite a noisy place, the traffic and the machinery above created a mechanical ambient symphony of engines, squealing metal and low frequency hums. Not 100 meters down the street a couple of kids were throwing fire crackers, which were completely muffled by the aforementioned noise. I got in the car and drove off to the PD, hoping that Dave managed to claw something out of the prostitute.
Later the day I was back at the precinct. Rita didn't say a thing, and why would she, all of our evidence against her was circumstantial at best, enough to get her locked up for prostitution but not for murder. We hit another dead end, the computer lab boys brought results from the neural implant analysis, which didn't reveal anything besides software that didn't pass the built in genuine verification test and a little build up of irritated tissue around the interface ports of the implant, which was normal in cases of recent implantation. I needed to blow some steam off, so I invited Dave to join me in the shooting range located in the basement of the precinct. I always found something rather satisfying in unloading an energy clip in a holo-target. As we descended down the stairs towards the range, the sharp and clearly distinguishable shots got louder and louder, and then it struck me like a charging bull. The man with the dog at the crime scene, the one Dave interrogated and let go, he said he heard the shots and went to check out what's going on. Something we didn't notice back then, but there was absolutely no way you could hear a gunshot in the lower city from a block away given all of the background noise.
Two hours later, four pages of background checks and the man in question was in the PD's interrogation room, with me and my partner. At this point my mind was racing because we pretty much nailed him, he had a gun on him when the officers took him in, a gun that was fired at the time of the murder, he was also a member of a lower city street gang, all we needed now was a little pressure and a confession to give us the motives and all the details, case closed another commendation maybe even promotion. But life is a nasty mistress who doesn't give such chances for free.
'So, Steve Balmer - the man with the dog, and the bad alibi. Tell me now Steve what really happened, and be straight with us'
Phase one: A lie
'I told you man, I was walking my freaking dog I heard a shot so I went to see what's up and I see this dude with his head burst open and that chick calling the cops'
'And the fact that when the officers took you in confiscated an Agiera Industries A-34 pistol has nothing to do with it? The pistol which has been fired in almost the same time as the murder was probably planted right, or perhaps you also didn't know you were rolling with the Metal Snakes gang?'
Phase two: Denial
'I ain't telling you nothing'
'Sure you ain't, we don't need to anyway, at this rate you'll be shipped off-world to the prison stations and pretty much rot in there'
Phase three: Offensive
'Are you threatening me, my lawyer will hear about this yo!'
'A lawyer? Don't make me laugh, given the evidence even if you have God as a lawyer he won't help you much. So do your stupid self a favour and co-operate. You will be charged with murder anyway and you are going in so you might as well cut a few years off the sentence'
Phase four: Co-operation
'Ai'ight, ai'ight listen, I did pop the guy, but he was a dead man anyway. The Snakes wanted him, he was some banker or something, and the snakes used him to launder money, but he talked, co-operated with the cops so he was on the black list you see. The leader of the band said that whoever pops him gets 20 grand, so I went to get him. I was tipped off he will be in an apartment, easy job break in waste the guy and get the cash.'
'Do continue'
'So I go there but as I was walking down the street I see him that prostitute chick and another man walk in the diner, so I wait, some half an hour later the three come out, and that other dude I didn't know looked drunk or sumfin' he could hardly walk, the guy I was supposed to kill and the prostitute had to carry him, and they did carry him to the building in which I was supposed to kill him. I couldn't go in man, I had no idea who that other dude was, he could have been a copper for all I care, so I waited some more. First the dude I didn't know walked out of the building and went who knows where, weird but I don't remember him looking drunk maybe so sobered up or sumthin'. Anyway the prostitute chick didn't come out I figured they were doing the deed. I had to wait for like 2 hours I almost feel asleep and then BANG!'
'Bang what?'
'My target runs out of the building like a bat outta hell, shaking and having spasms or something like that and heads to the net terminal, I got scared man I though he'll call the coppers, there was nobody else on the street so I walked up behind and shot him in the head, then immediately ran off, a couple of blocks down I see this kid walking a dog, I gave him 50 creds for the dog and went back to the dude to look inconspicuous and such, you know alibi'
'Right now I think by doing that you were either the most idiotic man alive or the smartest... What happened next?'
'By the time I went back I saw that prostitute chick calling the cops, so I went to her as if surprised by what had happened, when the cops arrived a small crowd gathered and then you dudes came and questioned me'
'I won't lie to you Balmer, things are pretty grim for you. Killing a man in cold blood, gang activity...you are going in for life...'
Me and my partner walked out of the interrogation room, telling jokes to each other about trivial things and we were just generally overly excited because the case was pretty much resolved, however deep down inside of me a feeling of unrest was growing, it was hard to ignore it, the sensation was not unlike being told your doctor that you have survived a lethal disease only to be hanged the other day. That feeling only grew stronger as we made our way the office we shared.
'Dave, check the victim's brother again please. Something is missing here. Where was he at the time of the murder again'
Dave booted up his computer and loaded the evidence we had, in this case a CCTV camera footage
'At work, the cameras show him working at his desk at 22:43, he's alone at the office'
'Late worker huh? What time did he get there?'
'Uhm, at around 21:00 and he left at 00:30, then we met him coming home'
The feeling exploded like an anti-matter factory during orbital bombardment. It was more than enough time to go from the lower city to his workplace, and matched with the time the man from Balmer's story left the apartment building.
'Call the patrolling officers I want him brought in.'
'Sure thing, think there's more to the murder?'
I didn't answer, because I didn't think there was more to the murder, I knew there was more to it. When dispatch informed us that Nathaniel Smith is about to leave the planet on a Spa and Cruise transport bound for Los Angeles, there was no doubt in my mind that he was not only connected but also having a main part in this dark movie. The only thing out of place was that he booked the ticked on his deceased brother's name. We had to move fast his transport was scheduled to take off from the space port at 19:15. For a nice but boring guy in his late 30s Dave sure was a good flier as he took the car from the precinct to the port in less than 13 minutes. As we got in the main terminal I drew in my gun just in case waving my badge at the security officers. We got Nathaniel just as his was passing through check-in. He didn't look good at all, rivers of sweat covered his unnaturally pale face, his eyes were bloodshot and his hands shaking. Suddenly it all became perfectly clear to, everything connected like a footage of exploding watermelon played backwards.
'Mister Smith, please step away from the desk and come with us'
'D-d-detec-cctives? Ho-w-w can I-I-I he-he-help you'
The man stuttered like a broken data disk from the 6th century
'So close George, so close'
Dave looked at me with that puzzled look a puppy has when it sees snow for the first time
'George? You mean Nathaniel'
'No I mean George. Enjoy the moment Dave, for you are speaking with a dead man.'
Dave was completely lost and my ego almost grew arms and patted itself for creating for creating such a dramatic effect with the words I chose
'W-w-wh-a-what are y-y-ou tal-k-k-king about?
'I'll tell you what I am talking about. You have a fever, you stutter, you are a mess. And that's normal, it's called 'rejection syndrome'. That's what happens when your neural implants run incompatible software and don't match the DNA encodings, irritated tissue builds up around the interface ports and presses your brain, not unlike a tumour, you will die if the chip is not returned to its original software or completely removed but then you are risking brain damage'
'Ray, what's going on?'
'This man didn't just 'take' his brother's life, Dave, he took his body, and then allowed himself to be killed. Isn't that right George? So let's walk through the whole ordeal shall we? You laundered money for the Metal Snakes but decided to switch sides, turn to the cops. The Snakes became aware of that and put you on their 'to kill' list. So you had to figure out a way to get out of this situation, and being the smart man you are, you didn't just figure it out, you thought of a way to make money, a lot of money. 20 000 000 credits from the life insurance you had in IC. So you hired Rita, promised her a share no doubt. And this how it went: You lured your brother Nathaniel who didn't suspect anything to the diner, once there you and Rita drugged him then carried him to her apartment, they had sex and he fell asleep. That's when the magic happened, Rita connected your neural implants together and simply put exchanged the content of your brains. Hence all the software code, brainwave diagrams and schematics I found in your apartment. So what do we have now? We have George in Nathaniel's body, and Nathaniel in George's wanted by the Snakes and insured body. But you still have to somehow get rid of your brother, so you tipped off a member of the Snakes in that case Steve Balmer. You went to work and Balmer was to walk in a room prepared for murder several hours later kill him and then dispose of the body. However as Rita was preparing the room your brother woke up in your body. That's something you didn't anticipate, something you didn't plan for. Imagine his disorientation, falling asleep and waking up in the wrong body. He ran outside scared and confused and tried to call you, the cops or somebody else from the net terminal, that's when Balmer seized his chance and shot him in the head. Rita absolutely petrified how the murder plan fell to pieces and ran outside only to find Nathaniel in George's 'your- body shot, so she turned him over and checked for any evidence that might incriminate her...Scared people make stupid mistakes. Then she called the cops in an attempt to create an alibi for herself. It all worked out well for you anyway, your wanted body was dead, and the insurance money was soon to come through once the investigation has declared either Rita or Steve Balmer guilty of the murder.'
George in Nathaniel's body was shaking, the imported personality coupled with the rejection shock was killing him slowly. And hearing his deeds revealed put must have absolutely ravaged his mind
'H-h-h-how-w d-d-did y-you k-k...'
'How did I know? You can steal a body George, but you can't just re-write habits. When we first met you went for your own door despite being in your brother's body, you also used your own account to book the transport tickets not your brother's. You are going to the chair George and this time there are no bodies genetically similar enough for you to simply jump in...'
That was it case closed, Nathaniel or should I say Nathaniel's body got sentenced to death by lethal injection. Rita was shipped off-world to Sugarland for life just as Steve Balmer.
And again I close my eyes for a moment and try to rewind, memories come out with their blue greyish tint and take over my mind like cancerous cells floating free in the bloodstream'¦
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