Supported by a thick cable jacked into the back of her head, Valerie Von Medvey danced around the tech dungeon like a lifeless marionette hanging on its strings.

Her eyes were shut. Her head bobbed limply into her chest, limbs loosely flailing at her sides.

Only the appearance of life.

“Rewind that,” said Parks.

Pinkerton obliged, and Valerie reenacted the attack in reverse.

“There,” said Parks. “Pause it.”

In the process of falling, Valerie froze, statue stiff, standing on one leg seeming to defy gravity. Her arms were outstretched over her head. Her right leg was raised, bent at the knee, fending off an unseen attack.

It was difficult to look at her and see anything other than synthetic.

“No,” said Pinkerton. “That’s no good. Her head’s turned too far to the side.”

“Do we have a better angle?”

“I’m looking.”

Servos whined, struggling to keep her upright in positions humanly impossible. Pinkerton flipped a series of switches and Valerie took a beating in fast forward.

Cutter had to wonder about the times they were living in.

Here they were, reanimating a corpse, trying to unearth a hidden fossil from the hollowed out innards of a victim.

Pinkerton effortlessly piloted Valerie, time and again reenacting a scenario that no one should have had to live through the first time.

It was ironic that Pinkerton spent so much time trying to convince him that synthetics were just like humans. A brain built on binary decisions, able to house and deal with the dissonance of conflicting inputs. No difference, Pinkerton constantly lectured.

Pinkerton could blab all he wanted.

But Valerie’s replay dance was anything but human.

Parks placed his hand on Pinkerton’s shoulder. The lab tech winced at the pressure.

Though Parks had been off the streets and running the precinct for well over a decade, it was obvious he did more than push the occasional pencil. His uniform sleeves were unbuttoned, rolled up, hinting at bulging biceps. Forearms like furry tree trunks crossed his chest.

Parks frowned, watching data stream over Pinkerton’s monitor. “This all we got?”

Pinkerton nodded and buried his head in his work.

Parks glared at Cutter. “Well, this is your case, isn’t it? What do you think?”

“I’m still puzzled why we’re calling it a homicide.”

“Stetler showed you the file, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, so we have a serial larcenist on our hands.”

“That’s not funny,” Pinkerton snapped. He moved the joystick and Valerie’s head whipped back from another invisible punch.

“Wasn’t a joke,” said Cutter. “Say we catch this guy. What charges can we bring him up on?”

Pinkerton didn’t have a response. Cutter casually pointed at the hanging synth. “Say, for whatever reason, we ignore the fact that she’s property and not a person—can we even call her dead?”

Valerie spasmed as electricity flickered through her from the cable in her head. Movements controlled by Pinkerton’s will.

Cutter crossed his arms and leaned back against a large shelving unit. “What are we doing here besides wasting everyone’s time?”

Pinkerton flipped his cybernetic eye loupe up. “If we could get a positive ID on the assailant, it would make things easier.”

“My money’s on the husband.”

Pinkerton spun in his chair, nearly falling out of it. “You think Christian Von Medvey did this?”

Cutter shrugged.

“That—that doesn’t even make sense!”

“Jack, we’ve checked him out,” said Parks. “His timestamps leaving work and arriving home match his alibi.”

“Not to mention it’s absurd!” Pinkerton threw his hands in the air. “It’s not Christian Von Medvey!”

“Who knows what kind of weird perverse sexual death fantasies he got into with his sexbot?”

“You’re disgusting!” Pinkerton slammed the eye loupe down and returned his attention to the monitor, muttering under his breath.

“Just entertaining the possibility.”

“Jack,” said Parks, rubbing his nose with his index finger. “Even if that were the case, it’s not illegal.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!”

“Von Medvey has every reason to tell us that it was him. To encourage us to drop the case. To limit his exposure to the media. If something more perverse was going on, the media would eventually dig it up, especially if we were still investigating it, which we are.”

“Which leads me back to the first question. Why are we treating this like a homicide?”

Parks bit his lip.

The expression startled Cutter. Parks was his idea of stone-faced authority. To see anything short of swift angry justice on the chief’s face would have been shocking. But an expression Cutter most often equated with a flirtatious schoolgirl was something else.

“Gotcha,” said Cutter. “The precinct received a generous donation from the Rich White Dude foundation for our continued support on this case.”

“There’s more to it than that,” said Parks.

“The Equal Rights groups?”

Parks nodded.

“Safe bet is still the husband,” said Cutter.

Pinkerton spun in his chair, face bright red. Parks shot the lab tech a look to try and cool him. While it didn’t quell the colors in his face, the skinny lab tech held his tongue.

“I mean, if it’s not the husband,” said Cutter, “who else would want to harm her without stealing her parts?”

“One, that’s the question isn’t it? Mr. Von Medvey has donated quite a bit for us to find out. And two, isn’t that your job? Pretty sure I assigned the case to you.”

Parks had him there.

It was his case. A case he really wasn’t interested in. Or was trying very hard not to be.

Shit happened to synthetics all the time. That’s what the Equal Rights groups were always bitching about.

Despite Von Medvey’s alibi, the donations to the precinct only made Cutter more suspicious.

Who else would want to harm his pet sexbot?

What possible motive could there be?

Was it personal?

Someone with a grudge against her? Against him?

Was it the Von Medvey name?

Was someone using her to send a message to her husband?

Cutter’s problem wasn’t a lack of motivations. There were too many variables, and worse, no leads.

But if Von Medvey had attacked his wife, there was nothing the precinct could do about it. No legal reprisal for his actions.

She was his property.

To do with as he pleased.

Parks was right about one thing—it was strange that he should fund an investigation if he had been the culprit all along.

Cutter sighed. “So what are we looking at? Can we get a positive ID?”

Pinkerton glared at him. “Have you not been standing here the whole time? What do you think I’ve been doing?”

“We’ve been through it all a half dozen times,” said Parks.

Pinkerton held up the joystick. “If she saw something, we would have seen it.”

“You could always ask her,” said a meek voice.

They all turned.

It was so easy to forget.

Celia bowed her head, looking at her pigeon toes. She was still clutching that damned teddy bear in her left hand. It dangled, partially hidden behind her leg.

“You could reactivate her and ask,” said Celia.