The plane’s wheels touched down, juddering and rumbling. Passengers pulled out their phones and began to text their families and answer missed calls.

Bing! went the cabin speakers.

“Please remain seated until the plane has come to a complete stop,” said the speaker-voice, with a touching, if entirely unjustified, faith in the passengers’ obedience. “You may now use your portable electronic devices.”

During the car ride and the flight, Vincent had drained his laptop and his phone battery completely; economy-class seats didn’t have chargers. But Malcolm had elected to read a book on the erosion of civil liberties in the U.S. after the Batavia disaster, and so his phone had charge to spare.

“Well, would you look at that,” said Malcolm, “Noelle sent a group message… nine group messages.”

Vincent jerked around in his seat to face Malcolm, whacking himself in the face with his own neck pillow in the process. Vexed, he tossed it to the floor. “Is something wrong?”

“Wow.... Jesus Christ. See for yourself.” Malcolm passed the phone to Vincent, who read with growing alarm:

Noelle to Vincent and Malcolm:

Noelle: call me when you land

Noelle: uncle J was murdered

Noelle: Maria’s suspected

Noelle: BHR investigating

Noelle: Singh again

Noelle: she kicked out the police

Noelle: Maria has nobody there

Noelle: just get the hell over here ok

And, an hour after the other messages:

Noelle: damn it land already

When the cabin door finally opened, Malcolm weaved, shoved, and finagled his way down the aisle. “Sorry! Got a tight connection to make!” he lied, dragging Vincent behind him, his carry-on bag cradled before his chest like a shield. The neck pillow was left behind, forgotten.

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

Less than an hour later, the two arrived at Saturn Technologies, luggage in tow. The left wheel on Vincent’s cheap suitcase had chosen precisely this time to irreparably jam, so it dragged and skidded drunkenly across the flagstones as he walked, flipping one way, then the other.

“My keycard isn’t working,” said Vincent, giving his suitcase a frustrated little kick. “Did Noelle let Singh know you were coming?”

“I guess she didn’t get the call,” said Malcolm, trying to maintain his air of unflappable confidence. “Or she’s letting us cool our heels out here for a bit. Oh, don’t do that. You’ll break your luggage.”

Just as they were about to go searching for a spot with better phone reception, a dark sedan pulled into the parking lot. A man emerged, and the car’s lights silhouetted him briefly as he hefted a black box from the trunk.

Malcolm squinted through the dark at the man, then made a lucky guess as to his identity. “That you, Jeff? Need a hand?” He waved airily and grinned.

Jeffrey was far less chipper. “Can’t let you touch this,” he shouted back. “Probably shouldn’t even let you into the scene, Fell.”

Vincent tried to look inconspicuous as Jeffrey approached. He’d never met Agent Singh’s assistant, but the tension in the man’s voice suggested that he was already nearing the end of his patience. Was Malcolm going to needle him?

“Well, I’m a lawyer, and your suspect’s sister just gave me the okay. I imagine Maria would like to see a friendly face very much right now,” drawled Malcolm. “So you can either let me in, or let her out.”

“And who are you?” Jeffrey asked Vincent.

“Vincent Stein. The… um, the victim… he was my research partner.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Jeffrey, with more softness than he’d hitherto shown. “And about your brother. All right, are you okay with us letting this shyster into your lab?”

“My lab?” Vincent’s eyes boggled a bit, as if he’d just realized Johann Palmstroem’s death had left him as the head of research for Saturn Technologies. “Oh, yes. Right. I trust Mr. Fell implicitly. Could you let us in? I think you locked us out, which is a good way to keep the crime scene unspoiled, definitely, so I’m not criticizing you…”

“Yeah, sure,” said Jeffrey, eying Malcolm once more with a blend of wariness and contempt before buzzing them in. “We go straight up. Stick close to me.”

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

“What do you mean, I’m still the lead suspect? The killer could’ve come in using the time machine, then just… blipped out!”

Agent Singh was seated at the computer now, testing queries on the Alice program and occasionally noting down a response. “The only prototype we’ve found so far couldn’t be large enough for a person. Though this could explain what happened to the antimatter unit. So thanks for that, at least.”

The sound of elevator doors opening interrupted their argument. Footsteps and the clonk, clonk of a broken suitcase approached, and Jeffrey stuck his head in through the door.

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

“I have those tests you wanted. And Ms. Park has visitors.”

As soon as Vincent saw Maria, he darted forward, nearly tripping over the pillow on the floor, and threw his arms around her. “Are you okay?” he cried out. Maria nodded mutely, not ready for this rush of emotion from someone who’d been a frustrating cipher for the last few years.

“That’s enough,” said Agent Singh, and Vincent reluctantly separated himself from his childhood friend. She addressed her next question to Malcolm. “Mr. Fell. It’s been some time. Are you here to represent Maria Park?”

Arms folded, Malcolm, replied, “Yes, if she’ll have me. Maria, your sister asked me to offer you my services. Do you accept?”

“Definitely,” said Maria. “Um, I might have already told Agent Singh some things. I mean, I wanted to help clear my name, but maybe I’ve been talking too much?”

“By some things,” said Malcolm, “do you mean a little, or a blow-by-blow account of every last thing you did that night?”

“...The second one.”

“Of course. Well, as your lawyer,” said Malcolm, “I’d advise against that. I always advise against that. You aren’t required to build the prosecution’s case for them.”

“Too late,” replied Singh.

Malcolm threw up his hands with good-humored exasperation. “Water under the bridge, then. What’s done is done. We can’t change that.”

Vincent’s eyes lit up. “Wait, that reminds me! Ms. Singh, what reason do you have for even suspecting Maria? If you don’t mind, could you tell us what you think happened that night?”

Agent Singh led the group back to the conference room, which was a relief to the temperature-sensitive Vincent. The night wind coming through the office window had left the room unpleasantly chilly. Once they’d taken their seats around the table, Agent Singh laid out the basic facts: Maria’s shift, the locked room, and the two guns. “Jeffrey, do we have an analysis on the revolvers?”

“Sure,” said Jeffrey, pulling the twin guns from his case and laying them on the conference room table. “The fingerprinting results are complicated. As for the ballistics… I fired a test shot from each weapon,” he said, weighing his words carefully. “The gun found on the scene was a perfect ballistic match for the bullet found in the victim’s body, and that’s consistent with the suspect’s guilt, but…”

“Leave the other details for later,” said Agent Singh, cutting Jeffrey off with a meaningful look. “If nothing further comes to light, we’ll be taking Maria into custody.”

She sure cut him off quickly, thought Maria. What was he about to say?

INTERACTIVE SEGMENT: This challenging multi-stage puzzle is optional, but if Maria can solve it, she will slice through a major problem in one fell swoop.

STAGE I: What was Jeffrey about to report regarding the gun ballistics, and why do you think so?

Deadline to solve this optional puzzle in full: October 26th, 2020.

The deadline has passed, but the solution may be submitted for... bragging rights, I guess?

But Maria didn’t have long to consider this problem, as Malcolm began to chuckle, low and confident. “Heh, heh. Sorry to send you back to the drawing board, Ms. Singh,” he said, relishing the chance to finally get one over on the federal agent, “but something new is about to come to light.”

“It’ll turn the whole case on its head!” said Vincent, trembling with excitement. “Once we show you what’s going on, you’ll have to see that Maria’s innocent!”

“Um, are you guys talking about the time machine?” asked Maria.

“We knew about that,” said Agent Singh.

Malcolm’s grin froze into a grimace. “Yes! That! You… all already knew?”

With a small harrumph of disappointment, Maria slouched down, shoulders hunched. “It’s no use. I told Agent Singh about it and she pretty much just said ‘meh.’”

“I object to that,” said Agent Singh. “There’s nothing ‘meh’ about a time machine. For one thing, it’s a motive. But it is the size of a mouse, and doesn’t clear you.”

“Oh!” Vincent hurriedly crouched to the floor, wrestled a stuck zipper open on his luggage, and fished through a compartment, tossing out a toothbrush, a photographic guide to birds, and a box of breath mints before finally pulling out a key chain. It was loaded with nested rings of what seemed to be at least a dozen keys, which he searched through until he found the one he wanted. “I get it! You don’t know about the other time machine!”

“The other time machine,” repeated Singh, hands on her hips.

“Yes! We just need to find the other safe key, and...”

“It’s in the globe,” said Maria, still downcast. She thought that the secrets Vincent knew about Uncle Johann’s work would solve the whole mystery and clear her name, just as long as she had Malcolm to represent her. But now it felt more like she was catching them up on all the details. “I still haven’t solved the riddle to open it.”

Malcolm eyed the crowbar leaning near the evidence case. “Smash it?”

“No! It was important to him!”

But without that globe key, they wouldn’t be able to open the office safe.

Note: The globe unlock puzzle was not compeleted successfully by the deadline.

Locked Narration: The Contents of the Safe [unlocked by the lack of a reader solution.]

As nobody seemed to have a solution for the globe's riddle, Malcolm hefted the crowbar and brought it down on the delicate mechanism, hammering it again and again until a crack appeared. Then, bracing it with his feet, he jammed the bar in the crack and split it open with a grunt of effort.

"Sorry, Maria," he said, "But your Uncle'd understand - no time to be sentimental about it."

He fished through the globe's remains and retrieved the pocketwatch and the key, which Singh immediately relieved him of. Then, with an almost imperceptible intake of breath, she put both keys in the safe locks and turned them simultaneously.

The safe swung open, revealing a bulky metal belt. It bent on myriad hinges, like the backbone of a serpent; these, together with an adjustible elastic strap and opening at the back, made it wearable for a person of nearly any girth, thin or wide.

In style - gleaming, brassy, boxy - it resembled the mouse harness, and like the harness, it bore three bright LEDs. All were lit.

Vincent stared. "That makes no sense. All of the lights are still on. But it's impossible to change the power source, so..."

Maria remembered what the diagram on the table had said: 'LEDs show remaining uses.'

"Um, Vincent," she said, gulping. "Has this belt... ever actually been used?"

Vincent shook his head. "No. It hasn't. If it had, at least one of the lights would be out."

"In that case," said Agent Singh, "You’ve only trapped yourself in a corner. The time machine couldn’t have been used. And if the time machine wasn’t used in this murder… the only possible culprit is Maria.”

Malcolm cracked his knuckles. “Let’s hear your argument, then.”

It was time for Malcolm’s first fight as Maria’s defense attorney.