The woman lying dead on the ground of this luxurious home created an image that was completely incongruous. Certainly, Laith had seen photographs of old crime scenes, some of which had been particularly gruesome and had made him quite nervous, but he realized now that standing in a crime scene and seeing a photograph of a crime scene were two very different experiences. His stomach reeled at the sight, and he couldn’t keep his eyes on the body.

The residence was lovely from the inside. Spacious and beautifully furnished, there was a homeliness to the place that made it feel less like a museum and more like a peaceful refuge of relaxation and familial warmth. Curved half-walls outlined different areas of the house, like the living room made with all beiges and browns, and the kitchen, which featured rich earth tones mixed with a lovely cerulean accenting. Potted plants that were obviously well-cared for were scattered throughout the space, some hanging like curtains around the concave windows and others sprouting from pots set on polished surfaces.

Family photographs, mostly of a happy couple, hung on the artisanally carved wooden pillars that supported the structure from within, and other decorative pieces made the whole place look positively luxurious but warm. And perhaps it would have been for Laith – if it weren't for the woman lying dead in the middle of the open space between the foyer and the living room.

She was face-down, a knife planted squarely between her shoulder blades. Hands outstretched before her, she looked as though she had tried to crawl away from her assailant, but to no avail. The forensic team, which consisted of two people, were already hard at work taking samples and photographs and uploading them to the PATET system via their handy PATET Analysis Cases.

Laith pulled up the NoteDeck on his Slate to get started, but hesitated to step forward, nausea creeping up his torso and resting in his throat. He didn't really want to have a closer look at the corpse; instead, he wanted to go outside and retch up the contents of his wife's nutritionally packed and hearty lunch. He gulped nervously, hoping that he could keep it down long enough not to make a fool out of himself in front of his peers.

"Anything of interest?" Detective Alazraq asked as he approached them. "Cause of death is the stab wound, I'm guessing?"

One of the forensic investigators, whose name tag held the name and title "Florenz Jardin: Chief Forensic Investigator," turned stood and turned towards him, clasping together his gloved hands. With his broad shoulders and tall, athletic stature, Laith guessed Jardin was the picture of easy confidence. Today, however, he looked pale and unsettled, and the Detective didn't blame him.

"Detective," he greeted him with a nod, keeping his hands together. Perhaps he was trying to ensure he didn't touch anything that might contaminate his crime scene. "Seems to me that this woman was stabbed in the lower back, and that the blade probably went through her kidney. She bled out, as you can see from the blood on the floor. A lot of it seems to have been absorbed by this carpet here. Then she was stabbed again in the upper back, between the shoulders. We're just about finished entering the data into PATET. You might want to wait for a moment and see what it tells us."

"Of course," Detective Alazraq replied assuredly. He had little doubt that PATET would give them the answers they needed, and so he busied himself looking around the home while the two forensic analysts took DNA samples, finger and hand prints, retinal scans, oral swabs, and more from the victim. All of these were then placed into vial-like containers in the PATET Analysis Cases, which allowed for the direct investigation and upload of the evidence into the PATET system under a new case file. A full body scan would be carried out and uploaded wirelessly to the system. Then, they would give the go for PATET to start analysis, and the answers would be mere minutes away.

Laith noticed the blinking green light on the ceiling – either the forensic analysts had already set up a camera to record the proceedings of the investigation, or the police officers that had arrived earlier had. It would record an audiovisual of everything that happened here today. This would be helpful – it created a record of the goings-on that he could access later on when creating his report. And, given that this was the first murder the city had seen in years, he had no doubt the Captain would be eagerly awaiting his report.

The woman was facing away from the kitchen, which might have meant that her assailant took the knife from the kitchen and attacked her from behind, perhaps when she wasn’t expecting it. There were no prints on the floor as far as Laith could see, but he would leave that to the Jardin and Izuna to determine for certain. The foyer, where he was currently standing, was a charming little space with a small round table in the middle. On the wooden table – a rich, polished mahogany – there was a bowl which held a set of keys with a small, faux fox tail keychain.

“May I have a pair of gloves?” Laith asked, and Izuna brought him a set of the same antibacterial biodegradable skin-tight gloves they were provided by the government. “Thanks,” he said, putting them on and getting back to the bowl in the middle of the foyer. He took the keys and tried them on the front door. They fit perfectly, despite not actually having any effect whatsoever on the door itself.

The door didn’t need a set of keys to keep it locked. Equipped with Slate-activated sliding bars, it was as secure as it could possibly have been. In fact, the lock and its corresponding key looked relatively untouched, and Laith wondered if this was one of those little statements that people sometimes enjoyed making – having old bits and bobs around the house from decades past as a little memento and curiosity for guests to enjoy. Nevertheless, what Laith noticed was that it obviously hadn’t been forced open. Which meant that neither the assailant nor the medics who arrived first on the scene had needed to break the door open in order to enter. It had already been unlocked.

A door like this would close and lock automatically once you’ve passed through, Laith thought, running his hand over the smooth white wood. In that case, she must have opened the door for her assailant, and they must have used her Slate to open it again and leave the house without raising any alarms.

He avoided looking at the woman's dead body, and instead pulled out his Slate and accessed the residential information for The Hills in the PATET database. He pulled up the household members of No. 23 and stared at the small portraits of its two occupants: a Mr. Aster Lockwood and a Ms. Cassia Grove. A married couple that had a clean background, as far as criminal activity went.

Cassia Grove – that was the victim. Her mass of curly black hair was difficult to mistake. Grove was undoubtedly a beautiful woman, with a straight, prominent nose and a direct, challenging gaze. She was 48 years old, owned her own business, and had earned her Heliopolitan citizenship only three years ago.

Her husband, a certainly successful businessman in his own right, owned the Greenland Farm. That fact alone placed him among the most wealthy and most powerful people in Heliopolis. Aster Lockwood was 52 and owned this residential property completely, though the ten most recent social payments had been made by Ms. Grove. Laith thought this interesting, and took a note of it on his NoteDeck for later on, in case it turned out to mean anything other than the fact that Ms. Grove paid all the bills around here.

She was fully clothed in a comfortable pair of pyjamas, which probably meant whoever had done this to her hadn't been expected, or might have possibly been someone who always saw her in her pyjamas – and someone who she was comfortable enough around to turn her back to. The former would point to… anyone who came up on her unexpectedly. The latter would point to her husband.

"Where is the husband – Lockwood?" Laith asked from across the room. "I'd like to speak with him."

"No sign of him," Jardin called back, tapping away on the screen of his PATET Analysis Case. "We're not sure where he is."

"He's not the one who called it in?"

"No," his assistant, Vie Izuna, replied, holding up Ms. Grove’s limp arm to show a familiar device wrapped around her wrist. "PATET called it in to the emergency health services first when the pulse became erratic and updated them when there was no pulse. When they got here and saw this, though..."

Laith's lips pulled into an understanding frown. No doubt it had been their first time coming upon a murder scene. He made a note to check who the response team was, and if maybe they noticed anything as they pulled in or entered The Hills. He also added: Check front door logs. If the killer left the house as Laith suspected, then the Slate would have been used after PATET had alerted medical authorities of Grove’s deteriorating condition.

First, however, he would need to call Mr. Lockwood and see what he had to say.

He had his Slate contact details in the residential information he had pulled up, so he didn't waste any time. Laith tapped on the small symbol in the shape of communication devices from centuries past and waited for Mr. Lockwood to respond. Maybe this would be his first time hearing about it. Laith would need to pick his words carefully. He prepared himself mentally for that possibility, for the chance he might be the one breaking the news to Ms. Grove’s husband, but the call was never answered. He tried again, but to no avail. Another note: Find Mr. Aster.

A missing husband. Laith brought a hand up to his trimmed beard and stroked it thoughtfully. He didn't want to jump to conclusions. There could be a number of reasons why the man wasn't here, why he hadn't noticed his wife's silence, why he hadn't already returned home when the end of the workday had long since passed, why he couldn't answer his Slate. Besides, a man as successful as Aster Lockwood probably pulled longer hours at work, given how important his work was. Still, Laith contended, the sooner he secured him, the better.

He passed through the foyer and into the rounded door on the right. It led to a small hallway that had three doors – one on either side, and one at the end. A quick pass through the hall showed Laith that the door at the end led to the bathroom, which was spotlessly clean. Both the other doors in that hall led to offices. One belonged to Mr. Aster, which was obvious due to the hanging portraits of the Greenland Farm, recognizable for its helical structure and the waterfall-like ivy cascading down from its sides. The other must have belonged to Cassia Grove; it certainly held a more feminine touch when compared to her husband’s grey-blue color scheme. What really sealed it with certainty, however, was the nameplate on her desk: CASSIA GROVE, written in rose gold lettering that glinted in the light.

Nothing seemed amiss in any of these rooms. Laith moved on to the bedrooms. There were two, and both seemed to have been well-used. Since only the couple lived in this house, he wondered if the two of them used separate bedrooms. It certainly wasn’t unheard of, but it did paint a bit more of a vivid picture for Laith. It was, of course, entirely possible that the two of them simply had different sleeping habits, and that the practical answer had been to have separate bedrooms. But it could have also pointed to a rift between husband and wife. Whatever the case, he would find out when he spoke to Lockwood.

A little tune rang out through the house; PATET had completed its analysis. Laith strode back into the foyer.

“Huh,” Izuna said, clearly perplexed, and Jardin hummed in agreement, his mouth setting into a confused frown.

“What’s wrong?” Laith asked, watching the two forensic investigators as they studied the information.

“Well, this is certainly a first for me,” Jardin told him, turning the screen of the case towards Laith. “PATET doesn’t have an ID to match these prints with.”

Laith blinked. “What?” he managed after a moment, not quite believing his ears – or his eyes. There, on the screen, was a small message that read:

No match detected. Sample from unknown source.

“How can that be?”

Izuna turned the case back towards her and began tapping away while Jardin stood, arms crossed. “Not sure, to be honest,” he told Laith, the wrinkles on his face becoming more defined as he furrowed his brow. “PATET is supposed to know everyone in Heliopolis. Nobody can get in otherwise. Plus, the fingerprints aren’t smudged or damaged in the least. And yet...” He gestured at the case helplessly. “PATET doesn’t lie.”

Laith’s finger hovered uncertainly over the screen of his Slate as though to do something – but what? What was the procedure for an unknown suspect? Was it even possible for someone to get past PATET’s all-seeing eye?

Every single person who stepped foot in Heliopolis was introduced to PATET’s system. PATET practically ran the megalopolis – it watched and monitored, identified and reported, managed communications and various public processes, and so much more. Everyone was connected to PATET, one way or another.

So how could it be that the fingerprints on the hilt of the knife belonged to an unknown entity?

What was going on here?