Heretic stared at Finch. A question in his eyes. Finch looked to the side. Away from the liquid green pupils and yellow where there should be white. Wyte had been sick off and on for a long time. Finch knew from what, but didn’t want to. Didn’t want to get into it with Heretic.

“What’s the situation?” Finch asked.

Heretic smiled: rows and rows of needle lines set into a face a little like a squished-in shark’s snout. Finch couldn’t tell if the lines were gills or teeth, but they seemed to flutter and breathe a little. Wyte said he’d seen tiny creatures in there, once. Each time, a new nightmare. Another encounter to haunt Finch’s sleep.

“Two dead bodies,” Heretic said.

“Two bodies?”

“One and a half, technically,” the Partial said, from behind Finch. Heretic laughed. A sound like dogs being strangled.

“Did the victims live in the apartment?” Finch asked, knowing the answer already.

“No,” the Partial said. “They didn’t.”

Finch turned briefly toward the Partial, then back to Heretic.

Heretic stared at the Partial and he shut up, began to creep around the living room taking pictures with his eye.

“No one lived here,” Heretic said. “According to our records no one has lived here for over a year.”

“Interesting,” Finch said. Didn’t interest him. Nothing interested him. It bothered him. Especially that the Partial felt comfortable enough to answer a question meant for Heretic.

The curtains had faded from the sun. Tears in the sofa like knife wounds. The vase looked like someone had started a small fire inside it. Stage props for two deaths.

Was it significant that the window was open? For some reason he didn’t want to ask if one of them had opened it. Fresh air, with just a hint of the salt smell from the bay.

“Who reported this?” Finch asked.

“An energy surge came from this location,” Heretic said. “We felt it. Then spore cameras confirmed it.”

Energy surge? What kind of energy?

Finch tried to imagine the rows and rows of living receivers underground, miles of them if rumor held true. Trying to process trillions of images from all over the city. How could they possibly keep up? The hope of every citizen.

“Do you know the … source?” Finch asked. Didn’t know if he understood what Heretic was telling him.

“There is no trace of it now. The apartment is cold. There are just these bodies.”

“How does that help me?” he wanted to say.

Finch usually dealt with theft, domestic abuse, illegal gatherings. Flirted with investigating rebel activity, but turned that over to the Partials if necessary. Tried to make sure it wasn’t necessary. For everyone’s sake.

Murder only if it was the usual. Crimes of passion. Revenge. This didn’t look like either. If it was murder.

“Anyone live in the apartments next door?”

“Not anymore,” the Partial replied. “They all left, oddly enough, soon after these two … arrived.”

“Which means they made a sound.” Or sounds.