Nobody ever really died in the city. When you died, your spirit left your body and flowed back to the waiting room at Spirit Central, where it sat until reincarnated in some other physical shell. When and how reincarnation happened depended largely on the arrangements you had made up front.

If you were rich and able to afford a premium reincarnation insurance, you were back walking around in your body within a couple of days. On the other hand, if you were dead poor, you would be put on the free slot Queue and your spirit could be kept at Central for decades, unless you won the Lottery.

Most people just wanted to come back in a new installment of the same body, continuing life as if they had never died. Some opted for a spirit wipe, starting an entirely new life, either as a child or an adult. If you truly had financial means, you could even opt for a completely new body, including a sex change. Reincarnation was serious business and there were a lot of packages out there. Of course, it was all tracked and overseen by the city administration.

I arrived at Spirit Central shortly before lunch, walking up the stairs to the reception desk. Spirit Central was open 24/7 with somebody manning the reception at all times, though only police business happened at night. The day shift was usually handled by Henry - whose last name I never learned, who was already greeting me as I approached.

'Good morning George, who can I get for you today?'

Down to business, as usual, Henry was my kind of guy.

'I'm looking for a recent arrival, name unknown, someone who would have come in early this morning, I think around seven.'

'Let's see,' Henry said, starting to type on the computer. 'Ah, you're lucky, I only got a single arrival at that time, a man named Duncan Freight. Does not appear to have any type of insurance whatsoever.'

'Yep, that'll be the one. Can you bring him up?'

'Sure thing George, I'll put him in room one. Be aware though, he hasn't been processed yet.'

Shit. That meant he probably didn't know he was dead.

'Ah well,' I sighed, 'let me be the bearer of bad news.'

I nodded to Henry and walked to spirit room one. Spirit rooms were where people went to talk with loved ones that had passed away but couldn't reincarnate yet. After all, it was not because you were dead that you couldn't talk. For policemen they were quite useful as well, to question victims or witnesses, post-mortem. I've always found spirit rooms awkward however, something about talking to a black oblong speaker attached to a wall feels a bit... impersonal. I entered the room, sat down at the table and leaned back, waiting for my spirit to arrive.

Ding

The light above the speaker went green.

'Eh... hello? Is anybody there?' a voice sounded. 'Where am I?'

'Yes, hello sir. My name is detective George Alpha, I am from the city police department.'

'Ah shit...' the voice said, followed by several seconds of silence. 'I'm dead, right?'

'Yes, I'm afraid so.'

More silence, then realization dawned.

'They shot me. Some bastard shot me!'

'I'm sorry, sir, that is why I'm here, I'm looking into your murder.'

'Somebody shot me because I stole a bag of bread!'

'Actually it was cupcakes.'

'Cupcakes?'

'The bag, it held cupcakes, not bread.'

'Oh. I didn't know that. Well... they shot me over some bloody cupcakes then!'

He was making an effort to stay on the point of being indignant.

'Look, sir, why don't we go through everything that has happened, so I can figure out who shot you. Let's start with telling me your name, sir.'

'Duncan Freight 's the name.'

I started taking notes.

'Okay Duncan and where did you live?'

'Dno, bit of everywhere. Slept under the bridge at 50th street recently, had a good box there.'

As suspected, Duncan Freight was homeless, below the 50th street bridge was a popular place for the homeless to gather and spend the night.

'Can you tell me what you were doing near Brothel's Bakery this morning.'

'I was just looking for something to eat.'

'Looking as in...'

It was quiet on the other end.

'Am I gonna get arrested?'

'Um. No sir, you are already dead. We don't go to the trouble of post-mortem arrests for stealing some bread.'

'I didn't say I stole anything.'

'Actually, I believe you did, right at about the time when you were going "they shot me because I stole a bag of bread"...'

Silence again.

'That was before we was all official talkin', that don't count,' he muttered.

I heaved a sigh.

'Look, Duncan, it doesn't matter. I'm charged with investigating your murder, so unless you shot yourself, there is absolutely no chance that you will get arrested. So please, tell me what you were actually doing there this morning.'

'Fine, I was there to steal some food!' he grumbled.

I felt an urge to shout "Duncan Freight, you are now under arrest for illegally acquiring baked goods, turn around and put your hands behind your back!", but my brain voted against it, figuring the joke would be lost on Duncan anyway.

Instead I said, 'Ok.'

'And I took the bag from the guy and ran off.'

'Which guy was that?'

'Dno, he was the first guy to enter the shop, came out of a posh car that stopped in front of the door.'

I nodded, but then recalled he would not see that. 'Ok, then what happened.'

'Well, they shot me!'

'Right, but before that,' I said just a little exasperated, 'you were running, could you tell me where you ran to?'

'Oh, I just ran away, to where they would stop following. Lemme think... I ran down the street, then down the first alley on the right and then left, and that's when they shot me. In the back!'

'Was anybody following you while you were running?'

'I heard the guy I stole the bag from calling and running after me. But I seen noone else.'

'And how do you know you got shot?'

'Because I heard a bang and then suddenly I was on the ground!'

'Did you notice anything else after that?'

'Mmh no, next thing I know we're here talking.'

'So you did not see the person who shot you?'

'No.'

'Can you think of anyone who might want to shoot you?'

'Yes! The man I stole the damn bread from!'

'Cupcakes.'

'What?'

'I'm sorry, I just like to be precise, never mind. Look, there's actually no indications that the man you stole from shot you, Duncan. But maybe your murder has nothing at all to do with the cupcakes you stole. Can you think of another reason why anyone would want to kill you?'

It stayed quiet for a longer time.

'I stole Fat George's blanket, maybe he found out.'

That did not sound like a very promising lead.

'Does Fat George also live under the bridge, Duncan?'

'Yeah, five rows over.'

'And when did you steal his blanket?'

'Last week.'

'I see. Do you think Fat George owns a gun?'

'He might?'

Guns were quite expensive, I didn't think it very likely a homeless person would have one. If they ever got one, they usually sold it as soon as possible to get some money instead.

'Ok... I'll have Fat George brought in for questioning, but it sounds to me there's not too much chance he's behind this. Think hard Duncan, could there be anybody else?'

'We-ell...'

After he came up with another three suspects based on two cases of stolen beer and one defecation, it was clear I wasn't going to get anywhere. Duncan didn't have the slightest inkling as to who might have shot him, or why. I gave up the questioning after a while and assured him I would get back to him as soon as there was news.

'So what happens now?' he asked.

'I'm sorry?'

'With me. I'm dead. What happens now?'

'Ah. I assume someone from Central will get in touch shortly to see about your reincarnation.'

'I don't got no insurance,' the voice replied sulkily.

'I suppose... that means you will have to wait for a free slot.'

'Everybody knows free slots take like forever, I'll never come back again.'

I felt it was my duty to uplift the spirit here.

'Well, on the upside, as you are an innocent murder victim they will probably bump you to the head of the Queue!'

'Really?'

'They might.'

'That is good news then.'

On the downside, as Duncan was a homeless person with most likely several misdemeanours, they would bump him right back to the tail end, twice as hard.

'I'm sure the people from Central will be able to give you more information. They'll call you soon enough. Goodbye Duncan.'

'Goodbye, mister detective.'

I pressed the button labeled 'Spirit Release' and saw the light above the speaker go red again. The spirit of Duncan Freight was sent back to the waiting room, where it lay unconscious until awakened.

With the new intel I got from Duncan, I decided to send Rascal on some information gathering.

'Detective Alpha for dispatch.'

The response was almost instantaneous.

'Hello George, how can I help you?'

'Hi Linda, could you send a dispatch to Rascal for me, please. Tell him our vic's name is Duncan Freight. He should go under the 50th street bridge and gather up all the vic's belongings, and while he's there try to get a statement from...' I had to look at my notes. '...Fat George, Smelly Frank, Bloody Mary and Tony.'

'Just Tony?'

I checked my notes again.

'Just Tony.'

I could feel the shrug on the other end. 'Anything else?'

'No, that will do, thanks Linda.'

'No problem, I'll dispatch it immediately.'

I leaned back, going over all the facts in my head. My chat with Duncan Freight had not brought me any closer to finding either murderer or motive.