“How long have they been dead?” Beth asked.
“About six hours, give or take,” Peter answered.
“May I?”
“By all means,” the coroner said.
He stepped aside as Beth came closer to the body. She got down on her knees and started putting on a pair of neoprene gloves she had retrieved from a coat pocket.
Simon Mendez, Sr. appeared to be in his mid-sixties, though in rather good shape for his age. His muscles were toned, particularly his calves.
Maybe a runner? she mused. Or possibly a cyclist. I wonder whether the husband or the wife was the athlete.
Beth reached down and moved the dead man’s head with her gloved hands. It didn’t take much rotating before she saw the gaping gunshot wound that replaced a majority of his scalp. The way the gory flesh extended away from the skull told Beth it was an exit wound. With no apparent entrance wound on the man’s head, she deduced that he must have placed the firearm in his mouth before blowing his brains out.
“We have the gun used?” she turned and asked the rest of the room.
“That’s right,” Marcus said. “.32 caliber. One of those cheap Targus smartguns.”
“Any other guns in the residence?” Beth inquired.
“None,” Marcus replied. “Neither of them was a collector. Based on the wear and make of the gun, we’re guessing it was purchased for this purpose alone.”
“Any prior incidents? Other attempts? Anyone who might want to cause them harm?”
“Nothing like that,” her partner said. “The neighbors didn’t even know their names when we talked to them. They kept to themselves.”
Beth turned back and looked at the corpse while she thought.
“Maybe there was some bad blood about the son’s death,” she started to say. “A lot of couples tend to lose affection for each other after the tragic loss of a child. Maybe one of them harbored resentment towards the other until it just couldn’t be withheld anymore. The alcoholism couldn’t have helped things, especially since they had to share the same body.”
“It’s a good theory, but we don’t have anything to verify it,” Marcus said. “No security footage, no revealing social media feeds, nothing that gives us a good hint either way.”
Beth stood up slowly, looking around the apartment. None of the dozen or so vases above the fireplace had been knocked down or even misplaced by the murder-suicide. A glass of wine sat perfectly undisturbed on the coffee table. Nothing about the home seemed disheveled or out of sorts.
“It doesn’t look like there was a struggle of any kind,” Beth observed. “Whoever pulled the trigger — likely the husband — was in total control of the body. There was no resistance.”
“Maybe he locked her out of the controls,” Marcus suggested.
“Perhaps,” Beth said, looking closely at the photos that lined the couple’s fridge. “But maybe she was resigned to the decision.”
“You mean it was mutual?” her partner asked.
“I’m saying it’s possible. There’s not a whole lot to go on.”
“How do we even know it was the husband who initiated it?” Marcus asked.
Peter remained silent as he analyzed his samples, likely immersed in his neural implant to the point of being unable to hear their discussion.
“We don’t,” Beth answered. “It’s just a guess at this point.”
“Well, we’re not here to guess.”
“No,” Beth said, looking around. “No, we’re not.”
Her eyes locked onto a thin plastic strip that ran along the top of the walls, right where they met the ceiling. With a raised eyebrow, she pointed to it.
“Is this a security band?” she asked. “I haven’t seen these in ages.”
Marcus nodded in reply, but Beth had her back to him.
“They don’t work anymore, though,” he said. “Essentially just part of the decor. Doubt they could remove it easily without causing massive damage to the walls.”
Beth frowned. “You’re sure they don’t work?”
“We checked it with the super. They’ve been deactivated for at least eight years, when the current owner bought the building.”
“That’s inconvenient,” Beth commented. She looked back at the deceased Mr. Mendez. “I’m sure you would have mentioned if he or she had left a note.”
“Of course,” Marcus replied. “There was nothing of the sort. Nothing on the Net, nothing here in the apartment. We’ve even checked with their employers and searched their belongings there. It seems like it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Maybe during a heated argument?”
“Or maybe there was no one to leave a note for,” the woman said. “You said their son was dead? Have you checked to see if he’s been installed?”
Marcus gave an uncertain shrug. “His records are a bit more complex than we assumed. We still haven’t been able to figure out if he’s got an I.I. out there.”
Beth’s ears seemed to perk a little as she looked at her partner.
“Interesting,” she said, her eyebrows cocked. “Look into that. Could be a lead. In the meantime,” she turned to look at the deactivated security band, “finding some footage of the murder would be useful.”
“I dunno what to tell you,” Marcus said. “I don’t think we’re going to learn much else until the report on Simon, Jr. comes back.”
Something brushed past Beth’s leg, breaking her focus and giving her a start. Looking down, she saw a bit of orange saunter by her before jumping up onto the sofa. It was a cat, and it started grooming itself as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
Beth turned to the other two with curious eyes.
“Is this the Mendezes’ cat?” she asked.
Both Marcus and Peter nodded, the coroner apparently finished with his internal task.
“Name’s Screwball, I believe,” her partner said.
“Did we check him for an implant?” Beth inquired.
The two men shared a look of realization before shaking their heads. Beth smiled after a small sigh of victory.
“Let’s get this cat to the lab,” she ordered. “He may have seen the whole incident.”
Theories
Beth couldn’t focus on the files she was reviewing as she sat alone in her office. Instead, her mind wandered to memories from long
