As I unholster my weapon, I cautiously step into her compact one-bedroom apartment, a fortress secured with an intricate array of locks and advanced security measures. She moves gracefully to my side, her hand reaching behind me to close the door. Contrary to the dilapidated exterior of the building, her apartment is a surprising that of luxury and comfort. I find myself wondering how she manages to afford such nice shit without any apparent source of income, unless she’s involved in some less than legal activities.

Her living space is adorned with sleek, modern furniture, and in one corner, I spot an impressive home system setup. It’s a virtual quantum computing rig, one of the most sophisticated I’ve ever seen in a residential setting. While I’m not the most tech-savvy individual, I have enough knowledge to recognize that this setup is professional-grade, rivaling even the system used by our tech team at the police station. The only difference is that she doesn’t have to abide by the same legal limitations that we do.

The room is dimly lit, bathed in an array of neon and black lights, giving it a hipster vibe. I turn to her and request, “Can we get some more light in here?” My voice competes with the pulsating electronic music filling the room. She strides over to the coffee table in her living room, picks up her universal remote, and adjusts the sound. The music volume decreases, and the lighting transitions from a warm, low-intensity glow to a much brighter illumination. “Is that better, officer?” Her tone carries a hint of condescension, but I choose to ignore it. “Yes, that’s better. Now, I just need to ask you some questions.”

I retrieve my data pad and set up Lisa, my AI assistant, to record our conversation. “Why did you run? Did you witness something you wish you hadn’t?” She doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she saunters over to her sofa and settles down. The sofa is an unusual design, prompting me to ask about its origin. She lets me know, “It’s a Togo, designed by French designer Michel Ducaroy. There’s a fun fact for you.” She gestures for me to join her, and I take a seat across from her. She then pulls out a spliff, lights it, and takes a long, drawn-out hit, holding it in for several seconds before exhaling.

“Do you smoke?” she asks. “No, I’m more of a drinker,” I reply. She nods in understanding and then addresses my earlier question. “I ran because we’re dealing with the Iron Dawn here. They have a lot of enemies right now, so there’s no telling who stabbed that girl. I’ve been keeping up with the news, and I understand why you’re taking this case so seriously. She was a cop, specifically assigned to the Gangs unit or whatever you call it. I didn’t want to get caught up in this, so I panicked and ran. I know that dealing with these gangs can easily lead to a premature death. But I was so terrified that I practically gave the cop my full name. I just couldn’t think of a plausible alias on the spot. But don’t you find it strange that out of all the people at that show, we are the only three witnesses who remained after the cops arrived? Everyone else was quickly ushered out, as if they were trying to hide something. I’m very perceptive, you know. I pick up on things like that.”

I look at her and acknowledge, “You’ve made some very valid points, and trust me, I was wondering the same thing. I arrive on the scene to find only three witnesses and a handful of venue workers who claim to have seen nothing? It doesn’t add up, which is why I need to somehow find a way to speak with whoever runs the Iron Dawn. They may have information that could shed light on what happened. So, you’re saying you didn’t see anything, which makes you a dead end too.” I drop my gaze to the floor and run my hands across my bald head, a clear indication of my mounting stress. Then, like a beacon of hope, she interjects, “Wait a minute. I had my back turned to the victim at the time of the stabbing. But I had my dynamo cam up on rotation, Its a floating cam that follows a pre programmed track I determine in case you were wondering. Maybe it caught something while it was doing its rounds. I had it circling around me, taking pictures of the event. I didn’t set it for video, though I wish I had now. But I can pull up the footage. I totally forgot about that. I was so terrified of having my door kicked in by cops, or worse, some gang member, that it slipped my mind.”

She takes another hit off her spliff and swiftly moves over to her computer setup, sliding into her plush leather gaming chair. She leans back, interlocks her fingers, and cracks her knuckles. I follow her and stand behind her as she sits down. I place my hand on the top of her chair and lean in closer. “Sam, load pictures from earlier today at the Gala venue. Show all pictures from the start of the first band, Ultra Violet, stepping on stage and starting their first song.” I look at her in admiration and comment, “Wow, you have a pretty advanced AI.” “Thanks, she’s custom. She’s military-grade, and I’ve done some tweaking of my own. That’s another reason why I ran from you guys earlier. There are some grey area activities I may be involved in to keep the lights on here. I have nice things for a reason. But since I’m cooperating with you, I take it you’ll let my activities slide, right?” She looks over her shoulder at me, her gaze conveying a clear message: don’t betray me if I help you. I assure her, “Don’t worry, as long as you’re not murdering anyone or selling Synth-Ice to kids, we’re good. A little back-alley software cloning and stuff like that? Hey, you do you. I just appreciate your help.”

“Sam, stop there,” she commands. “Rewind a few frames.” She instructs, “Pause. Enhance the image to the right, above my shoulder.” Her gaze meets mine as she states, “It appears we have a side profile of the assailant. He’s in a black hooded sweatshirt, and he turns his head just enough to capture a profile shot. He’s a fair-skinned man, on the leaner side, standing roughly 5’11”. His nose is quite pronounced, which might be enough for a facial recognition match." I ponder to myself. “Could you send me the enhanced images?” She retrieves a data drive and transfers the images. Handing me the drive, I express my gratitude.

“Ever thought about going legit?” I ask her. “With your degree and expertise, you could earn a decent living at the station.” She takes another puff of her spliff and replies, “Nah, man. What I’m doing is far more profitable and, like you said, as long as I’m not selling drugs to kids or killing anyone, I’ll stay off the radar.” She finally exhales as I nod in understanding. “I see your point, but let me propose something. For the duration of this case, be my external tech consultant. I’ll add you to my payroll as a CI. It’ll be our secret. Maybe you’ll even consider it as a more permanent arrangement in the future. Think about it, this would guarantee you immunity and protection from us.”

She contemplates for a moment, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “What’s the pay?” I assure her, “For the kind of work I’d have you doing, I can probably convince the captain to give you five grand for the job, with the potential for more if I need additional help. Plus, you can continue your main gig. This would simply be a contract, and if you want to part ways when we’re done, that’s fine.” I extend my hand. “So, what do you say, be my own personal techie?” She looks up at me, tilts her head, and grins as she firmly shakes my hand. “Deal!” She then asks, “What’s your name, by the way?” “I’m Officer Whyet Thorn. But, call me Whyet. I already feel old enough as it is.” I grab my coat and head for the door. When I open the door and walk out, I close the door behind me and the goons are still in the hallway, helping their friend adjust his broken nose. “LISA, set the drone to escort mode. Non-lethal,” I instruct. I pop my collar and bury my hands deep in my pockets as I stroll past the goons.

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Behind me, I hear Jackson. “Screw you, you fucking pig! Broke my fucking nose!” I don’t respond, I just keep walking. I have bigger fish to fry. I hop in my Glider and set a course for the station. En route, I call the forensics team to gather any new intel. “LISA, call Maurice Witherspoon.” After a few moments, he answers. “Witherspoon speaking.” “Hey Witherspoon, it’s Thorn. I need to know if you’ve found anything interesting about the case. Did you get any information on the assault weapon?” “We were able to determine that the tanto blade is military issue and has been for quite some time. That particular tanto blade was issued to millions of soldiers, so it’s going to be impossible to determine the owner using that. Those blades didn’t come with identifier markings of any kind unless they belonged to someone of high importance, in which case it wouldn’t have been a standard issue tanto blade.” I close my eyes for a moment and slam my hand against the steering wheel in frustration. “So that’s it, no lead on the weapon either!”

“Anything else?” “No, we just didn’t have much to go on, Thorn. No prints, no DNA, nothing.” A long sigh escapes my lips. But I bring up the fact no noise came out of the victim during the attack. “Wait, there is one other thing. According to one of the witnesses, the victim couldn’t scream after being attacked. Don’t you find that strange? I mean, you’ve worked in forensics for years, Witherspoon. Doesn’t that seem odd? If you were stabbed several times, wouldn’t you scream out after the first stab wound?” Silence falls over the call for a moment. “I suppose you’re right, but we did the body inspection and the only thing wrong with the victim were the stab wounds.” “Well, thanks for the intel. Looks like I’ll have to do some more footwork on my own. LISA, end call.” I think to myself for a moment. The knife used was a military-issued tanto blade, so the victim could very well be military, but that would just be too easy. But if he had access to military-grade knives, perhaps there is something that could prevent a victim from screaming out. I’m beginning to think we’re dealing with a pro in some ways. Yet leaving the assault weapon behind is either the dumbest move or it was done on purpose for some reason.

“LISA, initiate a call to Monica Vanowski,” I instruct, awaiting her response with my patience growing thinner by the minute. “Good evening, Whyet. To what do I hold the pleasure?" "I need to ask you a few questions. It's about one of my cases, so don't feel obligated to help me. Normally, you wouldn’t involve me in your cases. But I sense you need some insights. ask away and lets see if I can provide that insight.” I inhale deeply, “I’m aware that Dyna Corps has its fingers in many pies, and you might not be at liberty to disclose everything, but do you have any contacts in the military sector?” She grows quite for a moment before responding, “Let me get back to you, Whyet. Give me a few hours, and we can delve deeper into this.” I sense the need for discretion in this call and I simply respond with, “I’ll await your call.” She promises to return my call in a few hours and disconnects. With that, I decide it’s time to conduct some detective work at Mindy’s condo. Although I lack a warrant, I have probable cause given my assignment to her case.

I’ve visited her residence multiple times, and I know she lives alone. As darkness sets in, I should be able to enter unnoticed. Despite having probable cause, I don’t want to alert her neighbors. I land the Glider a block away from her condo. “Switch to security mode, LISA,” I command before exiting the glider. I open the trunk and retrieve my lock decoder, a standard tool for a Neo Hunter, or detective. I stealthily navigate the neighborhood, finally reaching her back door. I insert the chip into the lock slot and input the parameters into the console. A beep sounds a few seconds later, and the lock springs open. I enter silently, closing the door behind me. I pull out my standard-issue flashlight and begin to search the lower level for any clues related to the attack. What was she involved in at the time, etc. Finding nothing on the lower floor, I proceed to her main bedroom upstairs.

As I enter the room, her computer light flickers on, sensing someone’s presence. I approach her computer and open it. Oddly enough, there are no files on her PC. It’s as if it was wiped clean and a new OS was installed. Why would she not have a password set up? Something feels off, but there must be something. If she was in trouble, she would have left something behind I think to myself. I rummage through her drawers and sift through her paperwork. I find interesting notes related to some of the gang or faction cases she’s worked on, but nothing that would prompt or indicate something worthy of of an assault of this magnitude. My gaze shifts to her bed and the bedside table where a photograph rests. I approach it and pick it up. I recognize the picture; it’s of me and her. That day is etched in my memory. She took me fishing for the first time. We took a trip to Big Bear in the mountains. It was one of the most enjoyable weeks I’ve ever had. I can count on one hand the number of times in my life worth remembering, and that day was one of them. I grew up in poverty, while Mindy came from a well-off family, not rich by any means, but comfortable. I remember the impressive trout she caught that day, twice the size of mine.

The crude jokes I made that day about hers being bigger than mine had her stomach aching for hours with all the laughing we did. Something inside me urges me to open the picture frame, as I don’t recall her ever having this picture here. It seems out of place. I remove the back of the picture frame, revealing my first major clue I'm guessing. It’s a letter. I unfold the letter and begin to read it.

“This is for you, Whyet. Thank you for being the friend I needed when I needed a friend. If you’re reading this, then it appears that my affiliation with the Iron Dawn has led to tragedy. Have you ever stopped and thought about why I asked you out all those years ago? To go out with us to Karaoke when we first became friends? I wanted you to come out of your shell, Officer Thorn. Also, I was just a huge fan of picking your brain as a Neo Hunter. Anyway, I know there were a few cases you have been following, and I’ve been helping you behind the scenes. I’ve infiltrated the Iron Dawn to see if there were any connections to the two murders that took place in San Diego, supposedly by NeoGens. You were the lead on that case, remember? Those were two high-profile murders, for they actively fought against the Iron Dawn. I’m not 100% sold on that idea, and I think there’s more to it than that. With that being said, recently I may have crossed paths with several individuals, and I don’t want to put you in any danger, so I will leave it at that. But I know you, Thorn, you’re a hound of a detective, and I know if I’m gone at the time of you reading this, that I know you’ll piece together the puzzle. Live long, love longer, and be at peace, brother. P.S. Don’t forget to read ‘Memoirs Of a Neo Hunter’ sometime. It’s eye-opening. Third book from the left, bottom shelf against the wall next to my bathroom. Turn to the back of the book.” ~Mindy

I head over to the bookshelf, squat down, and grab the book. Interesting, I think, it's the same book my roommate Monica was reading. The first inner page bears a signature, “Monique Blancher,” I say to myself. The words read, “To Mindy Lawrence. I’m glad you enjoyed the book, your favorite author, Monique Blancher.” I then follow Mindy’s instruction and turn to the back page of the book. There’s a number and a name, “Markus Edwards.” A phone number, I think to myself, tilting my head. 323-856-2013. “LISA, add contact, Markus Edwards, number 323-856-2013,” I instruct. I take the book with me and exit through the back door, leaving no trace of my presence. It’s getting late, and my shift is ending. I have to play this one by the book, or the captain will kick me off the case. So, I’m calling it a night. Time to head to the bar for a drink and then home for a Blanton nightcap and a smoke.