Next of Kin

Chapter Four: 22%

Four, 22%

Michelle took the car from me. “It's not a problem if I leave the car here, is it?” I asked.

“Visiting someone?” she asked.

“Nothing like that, I've got some business in walking distance I'd like to take care of.”

She smiled again. “No problem at all. I'll shoot you a note, once it's fixed.”

I started on foot. As the city receded in front of me, I realized it was a longer trip on foot than I originally thought. I was about to GPS the distance, to know how much pain I was in for, when I received a message from the Medical Examiner's office. It was her preliminary notes, along with an additional message that the 3D rendering of the crime scene was processing, and would auto-forward to my inbox as soon as it was done 'baking.' There was also a brief condolence, signed with the name Nevaeh.

The notes were all but meaningless away from the scene. The location lock had probably assumed I'd be in a vehicle, so unlocking a mile from the scene made sense. Eventually I got there.

The door was locked, but the moment I looked at it, the text DCA override appeared on my lenses. An instant later the door slid into the wall.

“I could get used to this,” I said.

As I entered the home, a distance meter appeared on the right side of my screen, as well as a strange shape overlaid on the floor, fainter in places where the wall prevented me from seeing, accompanied by the label, “Crime scene.”

I touched the wall, leaning into the front room. The background of my interface flashed red, as another message popped up. “Investigator Tip: To avoid becoming a suspect, refrain from leaving your fingerprints or physical evidence at a crime scene.”

My fingers recoiled on their own, like they were a snake striking in reverse, but the damage was done, already. At least I had my own lens recording of me doing it, so it wasn't likely anyone was going to claim I'd been here before.

And I hadn't. It was a nice, well kept up little home. My entire apartment would have fit inside the crime scene. I felt myself getting warmer, getting angry, because John had always been able to prosper, even as a criminal. I reminded myself there was also a strong possibility he was dead- a possibility that loomed ever larger the longer this strange day went on.

Now that I could see the room, the examiner's notes made a lot more sense. I opened up the message again. Before I could use them for a walk-through, I received another message. “Rendering complete. View?”

“Yes,” I said, and realized I didn't know if the DCA tools were voice-activated or not. I stared at my approval rating, but it stayed the same.

My lenses dimmed the light in the room, and flashed a time, specifically a 4-hour window around midnight, which it stated was “Based on time of death.”

Two men, like the outlines on bathroom doors, stood in the room, one blue, one red. The one in blue raised a gun, and shot the red man in the back. Red fell. For an instant he had a human hand, with fingers splayed, and I noticed the outline of a hand, where he caught his fall, as blood poured out of him, soaked into the carpet. Red started to crawl away, on his chest.

“How are you doing this?” I asked.

“Investigator Tip: Ballistics can identify the rough trajectory of a projectile through flesh, and when combined with blood-spatter analysis, and known crime scene metrics, like the height of the victim, can be used to extrapolate facts not in evidence.”

“Can you specify evidence?” I asked.

3-dimensional circles overlaid on my lenses, drawing attention to evidence. The first piece I noticed was in front of where Red fell, a hole in the carpeting, surrounded by a dot of blood. The word “bullet” appeared over the hole. “No known ballistics match,” followed.

“Can you elaborate?” I asked.

“Investigator Tip: The bullet came from a 9 mm handgun. The rifling and striations match machining for the Beretta series of 9 mm handguns produced in Gallatin, Tennessee. However, an exact match could not be found, as the specific markings were not on record. The cartridge was not found, and therefore could not be matched to any particular style of Beretta hammer. It is likely that the perpetrator removed the cartridge upon leaving the scene.”

I stepped forward, towards the next circle hovering above the floor. It was a bloodied print, from the same hand. There was another, leading midway into the next room. I followed, and found the outline of a human body instead of another circle, crumpled, with a bloodied splash cascading out of the chest. “Body found here.”

The body was John's size. I shuddered. But no, he had to be alive.