Echika read the slips. Most contained dense handwriting, making them hard to read. They largely consisted of grocery lists, instructions for using tools, and quotes from historical figures and books. Some had addresses and phone numbers for acquaintances, which Echika decided to record on the spot.
Under the pieces of paper, she also found articles from electronic newspapers. They were intentionally printed out and were mostly cutouts from articles about Lloyd’s achievements. They were all text and were mostly brief excerpts. She found one among them that looked like a full article.
First in history to win the International AI Conference Award for three years in a row.
The headline stood out, with a photo under it showing a young woman holding a trophy. That person, standing there with her head cocked in boredom, was terribly familiar. Echika widened her eyes in disbelief.
Lexie Willow Carter.
The old article was from eight years ago, and its text sang Lexie’s praises. One line said the following:
No one can deny the achievements of this genius, who, at the young age of 21, developed the world’s first next-generation all-purpose AI, the RF Model, and is now the first person in history to win the International AI Conference Award three years in a row.
The end of the article listed the names of winners in other categories in fine print, which included Lloyd’s name. Lloyd was a robotics professor with enough talent to have been involved in Farasha Island’s creation, but he was apparently dwarfed by Lexie’s presence.
Echika’s eyes moved idly, settling on a slip of paper near the article.
Oh! Stars and clouds and winds, ye are all about to mock me; if ye really pity me, crush sensation and memory; let me become as nought; but if not, depart, depart, and leave me in darkness.
It was a quote from Frankenstein.
The handwriting on that note was different from the rest, and it felt very emotional. It had clearly been penned in anger, with spots here and there thick with ink from a pen being pressed too hard on the note. For some reason, reading it gave Echika chills.
The people Lloyd had murdered, the Draper couple, apparently hadn’t known him at all. For this reason, the local police had assumed Lloyd’s crime was an impulsive, unplanned murder committed under the influence. But what if he was the kind of person to harbor such negative thoughts all the time? What if this quotation he’d plastered in his basement spoke to that?
If Harold was here, he would have figured it out right away.
Echika sighed, her thoughts turning to the Amicus, who’d been left behind in the headquarters in Lyon to handle chores. Apparently, Chief Smith had doubts about having Harold continue working for the bureau while malfunctioning. She could only hope there wouldn’t be any trouble between them…
She left the workroom behind and opened the door to the next room. As soon as she did, she was met with a wall of darkness. Evidently, there were no windows in this room, but the place should have had electricity, so Echika fumbled at the wall and flipped the light switch. The room was instantly flooded with light.
Echika’s hair stood on end.
In the center of the dreary room was a stainless steel cage. Her Your Forma instantly analyzed it.
<Animal breeding kennel. Mostly used for large dog breeds>
It went up to about Echika’s neck, and it was wide enough for an adult to lie inside. The cage was empty, and there were no pet supplies in sight. Lloyd’s personal data hadn’t mentioned him owning any dogs, either. Even if he’d gotten his dog from a breeder instead of from a formal pet vendor, the data about it could still come up. And it was plausible he would put away a kennel of a dog he’d once owned in the basement of a villa he used mostly as a storehouse.
But it all felt much too eerie.
Stricken with inexplicable terror, Echika shut the door. So far, she’d learned that Lloyd had a warped personality, but she’d uncovered no clues about the Alliance or Lascelles. Any evidence that might have been there must have been cleared out. For the time being, she went to call Bigga.
Interpol’s autopsy facility was in a separate one-story annex building on the grounds of its headquarters. Before the Electrocrime Investigations Bureau was established, the Interpol was mostly an administrative agency and had needed to rely on local morgues for autopsies, due to lack of space. Only in recent years had they built a dedicated building for examining bodies.
When Harold and Fokine entered the autopsy facility, a female coroner greeted them.
“We only have four of the dead investors here: the three who died in Paris, Yekaterinburg, and Saint Moritz, plus Banfield. They were just transported here the other day.” She was a gaunt middle-aged woman, and she’d regarded them with annoyance ever since they’d called her half an hour or so ago. “This is very bad timing for us, since the family of the victim from Paris is coming to collect his remains today.”
“We’re working on orders from above. We just want to take a look at them,” Fokine lied with a straight face.
The coroner scowled, looking very resentful, but led them into the facility. The lights in the corridor were turned off, making the place a bit dim. It felt oddly quiet, maybe because it had a significantly smaller overall staff than the headquarters.
If there was one thing Harold hadn’t checked directly yet, it was the bodies of the investors other than Banfield. Even though they weren’t all here, four was enough to try to see if they had something in common.
“Hey,” Fokine whispered to Harold. “Everything’s going according to plan so far, but are you sure about the next step?”
“Yes, go ahead.”
The coroner walked over to the morgue. It was surrounded by exposed concrete walls, and the sensors in Harold’s skin detected a low room temperature. The cold storage containers were similar in appearance to parcel lockers in residential buildings, where delivery drones dropped packages, and had been built to accommodate dozens of corpses.
“Take all four of them out and set them on the table over there.”
Fokine pointed to a platform cart placed by the wall. The coroner, however, instantly refused, citing that the investors had to be kept out of exposure to open air, as they’d been dead for over a week. But surely just a few minutes of being in a warmer temperature wouldn’t make that big of a difference.
“You can see their faces. Do your inspection from here.”