The video immediately cut to the artificial face of Sarah Williamson, the I.I. governor of Washington state.
“The worst of these Fog-related incidents are centered over the city of Seattle,” she started. Her avatar appeared to be reading from a prompter from behind a podium at the state capital. “Now, this drug epidemic shouldn’t be handled as a law enforcement issue, but as a health crisis. This is a plague. And like a plague, Fog seeks to destroy our society and our standard of living. This is not a cut-and-dry situation. Due to the semi-digital nature of the narcotic, it is not as simple as treating a chemical addiction or working out emotional problems. As of yet, there is no surefire way to detox Fog addicts without severe risks to their health. But hear me when I say that this plague will be stopped and the source of the drug will be crushed. Those responsible for corrupting our friends and family — for stealing so many lives — will face justice.”
The news host was about to add in a bit more commentary, but Beth dismissed the stream from her consciousness. The autocar was slowing down now as it turned down a residential neighborhood.
It came to a stop.
Looking at the holographic barrier around the building she was parked in front of — the one that said POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS to anyone’s implant who looked upon it — Beth knew this was her destination.
The Couple
Marcus Gordon stood on the building’s stoop with a cup of coffee held in an outstretched hand. Beth made the short climb with a zen smile on her face, accepting the hot beverage with a thank you.
“Dylan,” he greeted her, lifting his own coffee to his mustache-roofed lips.
“Gordon,” Beth replied. They shared a moment of quiet while they sipped. “So what do we have waiting for us in there?” She nodded towards the apartment building’s front door.
Snowflakes fell into Marcus’s orange, graying hair.
“We’ve got an apparent suicide in there,” he said. “It’s just one corpse, but two dead.”
“A mindshare?” Beth asked.
Marcus nodded. “That’s why they’ve called homicide. Dunno why they bother. Perp’s already dead.”
“We don’t get paid just to catch perps, Gordon,” Beth said. “We get paid to find the truth. Even if it’s obvious.”
Marcus didn’t say anything in response as he slurped more coffee. Then he turned towards the front door.
“You wanna go inside?”
“Please.”
With the hand that held his cup, Marcus pushed open the large wooden door leading to the building’s foyer. Beth stepped past him and out of the snow, shivering a little as the temperature around her shifted. It wasn’t a well-built apartment stack, but it was still well-heated.
A small puddle by the mailboxes caught Beth’s attention. It seemed to be seeping through the walls, which also seemed to be stained by a break in some poor plumbing. It looked like the super hadn’t noticed it yet, or just didn’t care.
“Which apartment?” Beth asked once Marcus closed the door behind himself.
He nodded up the old fashioned carpeted stairs.
“Fourth floor, first door on the left,” he replied.
Beth started ascending the flight as soon as Marcus finished speaking. He struggled to catch up with her.
“So what am I walking into here, Gordon?” she asked.
“It’s a married couple,” Marcus started. “The husband is the one with the organic body, so he’s our main suspect, I guess.”
“Mhmm,” Beth hummed. “And?”
“Their names are Simon and Janice Mendez,” Gordon explained, struggling to catch his breath as they climbed the stairs. “Neighbors heard a gunshot early this morning, and the responding officer found them.”
“What was their relationship like?” Beth asked.
“Well, according to psych records,” Marcus started as he missed the handrail and stumbled a little, “they were the perfect happy couple.”
“So, what happened?”
“Their son died,” Gordon replied. “After that, they reportedly fell out of love.”
“Yet they stayed together?” Beth asked.
“Habit, I guess,” Marcus replied. They rounded a corner and started up another flight of steps.
“Hmm,” Beth hummed. “How did the son die?”
“Suicide,” Marcus answered.
“And the mother?” she asked. She glanced over at her partner. “Her first death, I mean.”
“They called it a ‘broken heart,’ ” Marcus said. “So emotionally burdened by the death of her son that she couldn’t go on. In reality, though, she drank herself to death. Happened about ten years ago.”
“So, despite the dismal state of their marriage, they decided to undergo a mindshare?” Beth asked, more as a thought than as an actual question.
She didn’t have to look back to know Marcus was shrugging. They rounded the last corner and arrived on the third floor. Marcus pointed to the door on the left, then gestured for Beth to lead the way.
The detectives entered the apartment, passing another wall of holographic police tape. Beth sniffed the air as she crossed the threshold.
“Poor ventilation,” she commented.
Three other people moved about the apartment with purpose and focused expressions. Beth recognized the field coroner, but didn’t know the other two cops. They looked like rookies, making a little side talk as they half-focused on their tasks. One seemed to be taking holographic images of the scene, while the other was setting up equipment for the coroner.
“Body’s over there,” Marcus said, pointing to where the coroner was kneeling. Beth didn’t notice it at first, but he was kneeling over the corpse, beside the living room coffee table.
She walked over and put her hand on the coroner’s shoulder. Startled, he gave a little jolt before turning around. When he recognized Beth, he gave a relieved sigh.
“A bit jumpy, Peter,” Beth said.
“Ah, well, you know, working around death all the time can make someone a little skittish,” he replied. “You’re well, Beth?”
“Still kicking,” she said. Then she nodded to the body just before them. “What can you tell me about this guy?”
“Guy and gal — remember,” Peter corrected her. Then he looked back down at the corpse.
