The following morning, I awoke due to the phone ringing. When I picked it up, an excited voice came from the speaker:

"There is a murder case I just got booked to investigate. Are you up?"

"...yes," I responded, sitting up. Beside me laid Selena, still asleep and her arms rested beneath her head. As I got out of bed, I almost tripped over the lifeless body of Ana as she laid on the ground on top of a thin blanket - she was by all technicalities dead so where or how she laid mattered little. I asked her if she wanted to take my spot in bed, but she refused so I gave her a light blanket to "sleep" on whenever Selena needed to use the power bank.

As I clambered to the wardrobe, my phone jammed between my ear and shoulder, I started sorting through the clothes inside. "Where is it at?"

She told me the address. It was around five miles away, in a suburb I had never heard of before. I told her I would be there soon and hung up. As I finally found a presentable set of clothes, I heard rustling come from the bed.

Selena started moving out from underneath the duvet, stretching a little before standing up quietly. She glanced at me before, while still dressed in her lingerie, went downstairs. I slipped into the clothing and, after checking it in the mirror, I grabbed ahold of Ana and lifted her onto the bed, attaching the power bank to her port situated just on her left thigh. It would take a couple of minutes for her to regain consciousness so I could not wait around to wish her a good morning.

I went downstairs. Selena had already begun boiling the water for the tea and making a quick breakfast.

"I don't think I have time," I said to her.

"Not even for a cup of tea and sandwich?" she replied. "How about I put it in the thermos? And the sandwich won't take long, I promise."

"That'll do," I ordered a taxi to pick me up, seeing that it would take five minutes to get here.

As I waited for the kettle to boil, I sat down on the edge of the table and watched Selena as she went to the fridge and back carrying some fresh vegetables and a plastic container of ham. I considered asking her if she wanted my help, but I remembered that the last time I tried to do that, Selena refused. I guess she has no confidence in my cooking skills, even when it came to something simple like a sandwich.

As I watched her figure glide through the kitchen, I began wondering who or what caused her to arrive into my life. It was clear the shipping company mixed mine and Dr. Bartholomew's orders, but why I did not know. Bartholomew, after all, is the owner of the company, so one would think special attention would be made to his personal orders. There were also a few things from Ana's story I still did not understand: considering Selena was meant to be his bot, how did he not immediately know Ana was the wrong bot? Did he get someone else to order for him? And why did Ana end up fighting Emilia-or-whatever-her-name-was? Her story was interrupted before it got to that point and despite some time that has passed since then, I had yet to breach the topic with her due to being busy with my part-time job-hopping. When I got home every night, Ana would already be unplugged and motionless on the ground, Selena taking her place tucked in bed.

I decided that when I got home today, I would ask her to tell me what happened after. While I was not entirely sure how long I would be, surely it would not last all day.

The kettle clicked and the roaring boil has turned to a quieter rumble. Selena grabbed it and, after putting a teabag inside the thermos, poured the hot water into it. I thought back to the previous night, about the lingering question on my mind, but just as I was about to speak up, my phone buzzed—the taxi had arrived.

She handed me the thermos and, after wrapping the sandwich in some cling film, gave it to me. I made my way to the door and before exiting the house, I called back to her, "Thanks, honey."

From the glance I got of her, I saw her eyes widen a little. But soon her expression returned to normal and she responded, "No problem, darling. Please take care."

"Bye now."

And I went out into the cold Saturday morning.

----------------------------------------

The crime scene was fully secured by the time I got there. Police officers stood guard at the tape barrier, their rifles at full display in front of their chests. The neighborhood was a tight knot of red-bricked housing that could support smaller lower-income families commonly known by city folk as battery houses and reportedly crime was a lot more common in this part of the city mostly due to poverty-line conditions.

When I got to the tape, an officer held his arm out and stopped me from going further. "Sorry, sir, but this is a crime scene. No civilians are allowed past this point."

Before I had the chance to respond, Maria came running out of the house and to the officer. "He's with me," she explained to him.

The officer nodded and put his arm down. I slid beneath the tape and received a pat on the back from the redhead. "You got here fast," she said.

"Did you want me to get here slow?" I replied, following her into the house.

Near the front door was a small set of drawers where a lamp and internet router sat. There was also a small notebook sitting there open with a pen placed in the middle which Maria picked up and handed to me. "I imagine you will need this to jot down stuff unless you have a good memory."

I thanked her for the notebook and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 7:43 am in morning which I wrote down in the notebook along with the date and the address of the crime scene. As we entered the house, I noticed how eerily quiet it was compared to the outside and how dark it was too. The small reception hallway branched out in three directions: the door on the right led to the living room which was even darker with its blinds pulled, the door just north-east of the reception led to the kitchen where I could see a light white tarp covering something underneath, and finally, to the north there was a stairway leading up to the second floor.

Maria brought me into the kitchen and knelt beside the tarp. "I hope you're not squeamish," she said.

"I wouldn't have come if I was."

She pulled back the tarp.

First, the smell hit me, that sweet stench of death. The body was of a woman, at least that was what I could tell from her body. Her face was practically removed, the skin curled away in long strips like wood shavings, exposing the muscle and bone beneath. The skin itself was purplish and puffy, like an eggplant left out to rot in the sun for a few days. Her bodily fluids had already stained the ground she laid on black and tar-like. Her hands were particularly black and coated in a thick crust of dried coagulated blood. If there were maggots, they are long gone, which I guess is a bit of a relief.

Maria slipped on some latex gloves and without a moment of hesitation started tilting the body's head from side to side, closely inspecting her neck. One could hear the sound of the woman's hair pulling itself from the black tar that had formed beneath her and the soft squelch of the loosening flesh. Taking a flashlight from her rear pocket, she illuminated where she was looking. "Long gash around the neck," she said in a calm voice, almost as if she was a documentary narrator speaking about birds building their nests. "Based on the slight roughness to the edges of the wound, the murder weapon was likely serrated." After waiting a moment, her eyes met mine. "You know I'm not just saying this out loud for my own sake, right?"

"Oh, right, sorry," I said, quickly jotting down what she said. I guess I was still taken aback by the brutality of the crime before me and by how calm Maria was about the whole thing. I imagine she had seen this sort of thing a load of times before so it did not affect her as much.

"From how clean the face was skinned and how there appears to be little staining, the mutilation part took place post-mortem," she continued. "There are also what appears to be 'spite stabbings' through the rest of the victim's body, perhaps leaning towards the motive being personal?" She moved the head back upright and stood up, going across the kitchen to the refrigerator which had a large stain of blood coating its white surface. "Likely, the victim was standing here, getting something out of the refrigerator, and then the suspect used the knife to slit her throat after she closed the door. The victim then struggled a bit, grasping at her throat, before collapsing there and dying. The knife..." She went over to the counter and pointed to the knife block situated there. "...likely came from that as there is one missing. Therefore..."

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"We can conclude that whoever did this was likely known to the victim, enough so that they could pull the knife from the block without arousing suspicion."

"Yes, you are right." Maria winked. "Though perhaps the knife was pulled at an earlier point in time, making the crime more premeditated. However, the pure violence of the crime seems like it was a spur of the moment. Premeditated murders tend to have their bodies moved from the original killing location, all evidence disposed of or at least done in such a way that it would be difficult to identify the killer. When someone kills based on instinct, on that rush of anger or hatred, the crime scene is far messier like this one." Maria stepped back over the body to my side of the kitchen and glanced at my notes which I was still in the process of writing. "Seems like you got the gist of it."

She stepped back and walked out to the hallway. "I only arrived a few minutes before you did so I could only have a look around. Takes these." Maria throws me a clean pair of white latex gloves which I caught in the cusp of my notebook and chest. "Take a look about the place for anything of interest. I always needed a second pair of hands when it comes to these things." She laughed.

I nodded and put my notebook and pen down on the kitchen table before stretching the gloves over my hands with a thwack.

"I'll check upstairs," I said, pointing upwards.

She nodded and I climbed the stairs.

Just beyond the summit was a door leading to the bathroom. Nothing of interest seemed to be in there so I climbed up another couple of steps that wrapped back around to two doors which both hung ajar.

I went to the door on my left and found a small bedroom with dark blue walls and a single window facing out to the back garden where a couple of police officers were talking with each other. The bedroom contained a single bed that was perfectly done and a desk with a computer on it. A bookshelf contained a range of novels and nonfiction with familiar titles such as Nineteen Eighty-Four and A Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. On the bedside table was a lamp and a photograph which showed a woman and a young boy beside her, both smiling in at the flash of the camera.

"Maria," I called out to her.

"Yes?"

"There's a picture here that shows the victim with a younger man, do you know if she has a son or anything?"

"...a son, yes, David I think his name was. If I remember correctly, he died a few months ago, a suicide."

"Thanks," I replied.

People sure do love offing themselves in this city, huh.

After checking about the room a little more, I left it and entered the other room, another bedroom, likely the one the woman slept in. It was far more in disarray than the previous room, with the bedsheets pulled from the bed and the pillows tossed about the floor. Drawers were emptied and overturned, the wardrobe was ajar and in shambles. Various photo frames were stripped of their photos, leaving behind blank white and broken glass.

So if the motive was personal, this was likely not the actions of a burglary gone wrong, I thought. So what exactly was this person looking for?

I was not a big mystery reader so I was quite out of my depth there. After all, I only expected the job to be Maria doing all of the detective work and I write things down from time to time.

I sighed and began to walk out of the bedroom when my eye caught the bed itself: a double bed. This was not unusual in itself, but it made me ask the question: if there is a son, where is the father?

I relayed this question to Maria, who had started climbing the stairs.

"The father? The victim had a boyfriend but I believed they separated some years ago. At least that's what I gathered from the lady who found her, the neighbor. You think he had something to do with this?"

"Come here, take a look at the bedroom." She did so, remarking on how much of a mess it was. "If you claim that the body shows signs of the crime being personal, it means this isn't the actions of a burglar trying to find something of value. In fact, as you can see here," I pointed to a necklace that was lying on the bedside table, "it wasn't money they were after, it was something else... perhaps something of sentimental value instead?"

Maria placed her hand on the side of her lips and she inspected the room in silence, kneeling and checking under the bed for something. She then shook her head and got up. "Perhaps you're right. We should talk to him regardless of whether or not he is involved in this. I found nothing of interest downstairs, let's try and get in touch with this ex."

We were walking out of the bedroom when she stopped outside of the son's bedroom, told me to wait a minute and she went inside to snoop around. I waited, leaning on the banister as I did so and whistling some tune I heard on the taxi radio. I was susceptible to earworms it seemed.

She came out a few minutes later saying nothing, meaning she probably found nothing of interest in there either. We went downstairs, I grabbed my notepad and pen, and we went out the front door, her telling the cops they could transport the body to the medical examiner. She then told the sergeant officer that she and I would be heading to the boyfriend's house. Maria ordered a taxi and started going through what appeared to be the boyfriend's police records on her phone.

"Would you look at that?" she said. "This guy isn't unknown to the police—a couple of assault charges from years back it seems."

"Huh."

"Right, got his current address."

Soon after, the taxi pulled up.

----------------------------------------

The ex lived not too far away from my house. We arrived at his front door and Maria knocked on it. After waiting a minute with no answer, she practically started bashing on it, shouting, "Mr. Jackson. Open up."

That was when we heard the loud sound of glass shattering come from the back of the house. We both shared a quick look and quickly climbed over the locked garden gate and went around to the back of the house. Sure enough, the back window was broken out, and there was some torn cloth and blood on the glass like teeth of a beast. The blood trail led across the grass and over a fence which we both climbed over, me with a significant less amount of finesse.

When we both got over the fence, Maria shouted, "There he is! Mr. Jackson, stop right there!"

As if he'd suddenly listen to orders after busting through a window, I thought to myself before chasing after the shrinking figure. "Do you have a radio to call it in?"

"I'm a private detective, it's not like the police give everyone who claims to be a detective a walkie-talkie."

We ran down the alleyway rear of the housing estate before turning right and down the sidewalk of a main road. Because most people were at work at this time, it was relatively open sidewalk so we were catching up to him fast. Maria continued to give the fleeing suspect commands though to no avail.

The suspect was a relatively large dude so it was not long until we saw his pace slow down. I was the one who got the dubious honor of tackling him to the ground. Moving my legs onto his back, I pinned him to the ground as he struggled to get free.

That was quite anti-climatic, I thought to myself as Maria caught up, seeming like she was about to heave up her breakfast.

"Good work, partner," she said, taking a moment to catch her breath. "Now then, Mr. Jackson, why did you try to run? Could it be you knew why we were here?"

Shane Jackson was having a hard time trying to catch his own breath as well, being that a fully-grown man was currently using him as a pillow. "Of course I knew. Kait, oh Jesus Christ Kait..." He rolled his balding head up at Maria. "I know how you people work so I just ran for it. No questions asked; the ex-boyfriend did it, no need for further investigation, case closed, throw away the fuckin' key. After all, you guys get paid for every case you complete, not... eugh... by the hour." He rolled his head to me. "Could you get off me for a minute? It's not like I can go anywhere or do anything."

"My partner will stay where he is," Maria said. "Well, running from us won't help your case, right? Innocent people don't run from the police."

"Innocent, that word means fuck-all in this city. Look just arrest me already and get this shit over with."

"Now now, let's not be too hasty. Just answer me a couple of questions while my colleague calls the police."

I take out my phone. Shane struggled a little, looking at us two the best he could in his position.

"Call the police? Are you two not the police?"

"Private Detective Maria," she said, puffing out her chest a little with a smirk. "And... my newbie partner!"

Did she already forget my name?!

Shane sighed. "Oh great, now I'm really fucked."

"Hey! I know private detectives don't have the best reputation around these parts, but I'm really good!" Maria said, her voice stained in offense. "I promise to make sure you stay behind bars ten times as many years as the number of times you stabbed the victim."

"...I want an attorney."

Those words finally made Maria freeze up. Meekly, she put her hands together and said, "...five times as many years?"

"Zero times! Because I didn't kill Kait! I loved that woman, I really fucking did..."

Few sights in this world rival the heart wrench of watching a fully-grown man start sobbing. I started to feel bad about sitting on top of him. Even Maria seemed to be having her doubts about her suspicions as her brows lowered and her lips turned into a frown.

Through his cries, Shane managed to say something intelligible, "It was Barbara... that bitch killed her, she has to have had."

"Barbara?" "Barbara?" Maria and I said at the same time as our eyes met.

"Who is Barbara?" Maria asked, sitting down on the ground in front of the still prone Shane.

Shane sighed, wiping the tears from his eyes. "She was supposed to only be a maid bot, but soon she and Kait started... you know... seeing each other." His eyes sharpened with anger. "I always knew that thing was deficient one way or another."

"A robot, you say..." Maria's face darkened for a moment, long enough for me to notice. I also sensed a little venom in her speech. "Another one of those cases, huh..."